


Akira Kurusu and the Philosopher's Stone

by TheCephalopodAgency



Series: Chairy Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Persona 5
Genre: Canon Divergance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCephalopodAgency/pseuds/TheCephalopodAgency
Summary: Akira Kurusu looks very much like Harry Potter. In another universe, they could be the same person.





	1. The Vanishing Glass

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just for fun right now. I know this chapter very closely follows the one in the original, but I promise I plan to diverge the Harry Potter plots a good bit at least once we get to Hogwarts. There will be some major differences as early as Diagon Alley, though.
> 
> Akira will also be smarter and have more common sense. He IS a Phantom Thief, after all.

“Up! Get up! Now!” The shrill voice of Petunia Dursley awoke Akira with a start. Her knuckles rapped against the door angrily, and she shrieked “Wake up!” one more time. Akira took a deep breath and let it out slowly as her footsteps disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. The sound of pots and pans hitting the countertops reached him.

He sat up and pressed the palms of his hands flat against his closed grey eyes, trying to remember the dream he’d had. It had been so strange. There were several blue butterflies flitting about, and one of them was speaking to him. The image conjured thoughts of velvet to him. It was very similar to other dreams he’d had recently, but he could never remember what they were saying.

Aunt Petunia was knocking on his door again, tearing him from his thoughts.

“Are you up yet?” She demanded, her foot tapping impatiently just outside his door.

“Yes.”

“Good, now hurry up and get in here. I want you to watch the bacon. If you burn it again on Duddy’s birthday, you’ll regret it.”

Akira let out a loud sigh.

“What was that?” Petunia snapped.

“Nothing.” Of course it was Dudley’s birthday. How could he have forgotten? He slipped off the bed and got on his knees to find his socks. He’d left them folded neatly next to his shoes the night before, as he always did. He tugged them on, careful to watch for any spiders that may have clung to the thin fabric. He didn't mind the spiders, considering they had shared the cupboard with him for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he even named the ones that stuck around for a while.

When he finished dressing himself in in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that had several holes along the seams, he pushed his door open and made his way down the hall. He stared at the kitchen table, which was almost buckling under the weight of the presents sitting on top. One of them vaguely resembled what looked like the newest computer he’d seen advertised on the tv a few weeks ago. Speaking of televisions, it looked like Dudley’s demands for a second one were granted.

There was also a bicycle, which struck him as odd, because the only exercise Dudley seemed to enjoy was hitting people when nobody was looking, and he could certainly land a decent punch when he wanted to. Any time he wanted to hit Akira, though, he had to take him by surprise. He was very fast, likely a combination of his lower-than-average body mass and practice avoiding Dudley and his friends.

Akira set to work on the bacon. Luckily he was really tall for his age, despite the lack of healthy body mass, so he could reach everything with ease. In a few years he may even tower over his cousin, even if he still weighed at least four times less than him.

While his cousin was always sporting new clothes and, despite his mass, looked healthy, Akira’s clothes, all Dudley’s cast offs, were baggy and hung off of him in a way that made him look almost sickly thin. His face was angular and pointed, and his eyes were way too big and slanted. He wore those large, thick-rimmed black glasses, too. They were taped together in the middle after snapping under the force of Dudley’s meaty fists. His hair was an unruly mass of fluffy black curls, and his eyes were a dark shade of charcoal, close to his Aunt Petunia’s, so he assumed it was a trait from his mother’s family. Under his hair was probably the only cool thing he had going for him. He had a thin scar on his forehead that looked like a bolt of lighting.

Years ago, he remembered asking where he got it. Petunia had sneered at him and said it was the product of the car crash that killed his parents. Then she scolded him for asking questions.

That was when learned to be quiet and answer his own questions, be it through eavesdropping or reading, because if there was one thing the Dursley’s hated, it was Akira asking ‘weird’ questions.

As he was carefully flipping the bacon, his Uncle Vernon finally entered the kitchen, collapsing into his chair, which let out a squeak of protest. The man looked over his newspaper and appraised him for a few seconds before telling Petunia they needed to cut his hair again.

A few minutes later, after he’d placed the slightly overcooked but not quite burnt bacon on a paper towel to drain the grease, he began to crack the eggs into a fresh pan. It was then that his cousin finally made his presence known. He looked more like Vernon than Petunia, with his stubby neck, watery blue eyes and a layer of thick blonde hair that looked so out of place against his round pink face.

Before Dudley could get any ideas about messing with him by the stove, he slid the fried eggs onto his plate with some bacon and carried it to the table, trying not to knock over the mountain of gifts. It turned out that Akira shouldn't have worried, because he was too busy counting his presents to bother with him. Akira hastily retreated when his face fell.

“There’s only thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his parents. “That’s two less than last year.” It was also way more than Akira had ever gotten, so he found it hard to sympathize with the other boy. He used the time while his aunt and uncle were distracted by his growing tantrum to grab a piece of fruit from the counter, slipping it into his pocket for later.

“Look darling,” Petunia soothed, pointing out a small box resting under a much larger one. “You haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present yet.”

“That's only thirty-seven!” His face was approaching dangerous levels of redness, and Akira braced himself for the wailing.

Luckily for all parties involved, Aunt Petunia quickly said “and we’ll get you two more presents while we’re out today. How does that sound, popkins? Does two more sound alright?”

Dudley thought about it for a minute, his cogs turning so hard Akira could actually imagine the pain he must be in from the effort. “So I’ll have thirty… thirty…”

“Thirty-nine,” Akira hissed under his breath, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Thirty-nine, sweetums.”

“Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the closest present. “Alright then,” he finally conceded, his narrow focus on what he was about to open. To Akira’s eternal confusion and astonishment, Uncle Vernon praised his son’s abysmal behavior, ruffling his hair as if he’d done something worth being proud of.

At that moment, the phone rang. Petunia went to answer it while Vernon and Akira watched Dudley rip through his presents. Well, Vernon watched, while Akira was busy stuffing the discarded paper into a trash bag. He unwrapped the racing bike, the computer, sixteen games for it, and many more expensive looking gifts that would no doubt end up trashed by the end of the week. He was nearly finished when Aunt Petunia came back in, looking both angry and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg has gone and broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Akira’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, and Akira’s heart sank into his stomach. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, while he was out with his friends and parents, Akira would spend the day with the admittedly strange Mrs. Figg. Her house always smelled like cabbage, but she had albums full of pictures of her cats, and he loved to look at them. She was also much nicer than the Dursleys, and even made him lunch, and looked at him without the same disdain his Aunt and Uncle had for him.

“Is she going to be okay?” He asked before he could think better if it.

“Quiet, boy,” Vernon growled, whacking the back of his head with his newspaper. His glasses almost flew off of his face.

“Now what do we do?” Said Aunt Petunia, looking at him angrily. Akira looked at the floor, biting his lip. He would have to make sure to slip away somehow and send her a card, or something. He really did prefer to stay with her. Was anyone feeding her cats?

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested.

“Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.”

‘They know I’m standing right here, right?’ he sighed internally. They always talked about his as ‘the boy’ or ‘the freak’ even when he was present. He actually didn't even know his own name until his first day of school. That was so embarrassing, when the teacher called his name several times, thinking him absent until he was the only one left in the room.

“What about your friend, uh, what’s-her-name? Yvonne?”

“She’s on vacation in Majorca,” Aunt Petunia snapped.

“You could leave me here,” Akira suggested. If they didn't lock him in the cupboard, he could make a get-well-soon card for Mrs. Figg. Aunt Petunia scrunched her face up, as if she were sucking on a lemon.

“And come back to find the house in ruins? I don't think so,” she snarled. 

How she thought he, a malnourished ten-year-old, would destroy her precious house was beyond him.

“I suppose we could… take him to the zoo,” she said thoughtfully, “and leave him in the car?”

“It’s a new car, I won't have him sitting in it alone…”

At this point, Dudley started to cry. Well, not cry per se; he hadn't legitimately cried in years. Instead he would scrunch his face up and wail as loudly as he could, which was enough to fool Aunt Petunia.

“Don’t cry Duddykins, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!” She flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly, rubbing his back and trying to shush him.

“I… d-don’t… want… h-him… t-t-to c-come!” Dudley stuttered out between his sobs. “He always… s-spoils… everything!” He grinned at Akira over Aunt Petunia’s shoulder. Akira narrowed his eyes.

The doorbell rang, “They’re here!” Aunt Petunia said frantically. A few moments later, a thin boy with rat-like features walked in with his mother, and Dudley stopped his fake crying immediately. If Akira hated Dudley, he despised Piers Polkiss. He was a scrawny kid and actually pretty quick. He was also stronger than Akira, and most other kids their age, so he was often the one that caught him and held his arms behind his back while Dudley beat the life out of him.

Akira edged away from the blonde menace, aware of the nasty look in his eye. Petunia exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Polkiss in the living room for a while as mAkira tidied up the kitchen, washing the breakfast dishes and wiping the sheen of bacon grease from the stove top. He peered around the kitchen cautiously. Uncle Vernon was in the Living Room as well, and Dudley and Piers were nowhere in sight.

He swallowed roughly, and pulled the slightly bruised peach from his pocket, devouring it quickly before washing it down with a glass of water. He hid the pit under all the wrapping paper from earlier, and went back to looking busy.

\---

About a half hour later, Akira was pressed uncomfortably against the back door of Uncle Vernon’s car. In the end, they couldn't find a place to dump him for the day, so now he was in the back seat with Dudley and Piers. Dudley was just about sitting on him, which was why he was so uncomfortably pinned to the door. It was a relief when they finally made it to the zoo, until Dudley opened the door and pushed him out, stomping on his hand before he could pick himself up off the asphalt.

Akira bit back a cry and held his hand close, rubbing the sore flesh. There was a lightly bleeding scrape along the heel of his palm that stung terribly. He trailed after his cousin, withering under Uncle Vernon’s glare. The man made a point of sliding thumb across his neck, and Akira got the hint.

Before leaving the house, Uncle Vernon had pulled him aside, sticking his unsightly purple face close to Akira’s.

“I’m warning you, boy-- any funny business, anything at all-- and you’ll be locked in that cupboard until Christmas. Do you understand me?”

“I won't do anything, I swear.”

Of course his uncle didn't believe him for a second. Akira wasn't sure why, but strange things always seemed to happen around him, and he was always blamed for it.

Once, when he was seven, Aunt Petunia had attacked his curls with a pair of kitchen shears, leaving everything but the portion that covered his “unsightly scar” looking as though he’d met the wrong end of a weed whacker. Dudley was taunting him about going to school the next morning and he was worried about being bullied for it, until he woke up the next morning with a full head of curls. His elation was quickly decimated when Aunt Petunia saw him. They locked him in the cupboard for a week after that.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force one of Dudley’s disgusting sweaters over his head. The harder she tried, the smaller the repulsive brown and orange garment seemed to get, until it would never have fit Akira. To his relief, she’d decided it must have shrunk in the wash. And he wasn’t punished for it that time.

He did, however, find himself locked in the cupboard again after finding himself on the roof of the school cafeteria. At the time, he was trying to avoid Dudley and his gang as usual, when much to even his surprise, he found himself on the chimney. The Dursleys had gotten a very angry letter berating Akira for climbing school buildings, and Vernon refused to believe him when he explained he had no idea how he’d made it there, as he had only been trying to hide behind the large trashcan outside the kitchen.

He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach about today. He really would have preferred Mrs. Figg’s house, cabbage scented or not. Up in the front seat, Uncle Vernon had spent the entire drive complaining to Aunt Petunia about, surprise surprise, Akira. He did that nearly every time Akira was in the back seat. Dudley and Piers snickered at him constantly the entire time. Combining that with his still bleeding hand, Akira was just waiting for the disaster to strike.

The zoo itself was absolutely packed. It was a hot, sunny Saturday, and everyone and their mother had decided to come to the zoo. Uncle Vernon stopped by an ice cream stand just inside the park and bought chocolate icecreams for Dudley and Piers, who were complaining about both the heat and the length of the line into the park. Then the smiling woman in the van had asked him what he wanted before the Dursleys could hurry him away, so they begrudgingly purchased a small lemon ice pop for him. He wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he had to admit, the ice pop wasn’t bad.

By the time lunch had come and passed, Akira was starting to wonder if the bad feeling from that morning was unfounded. The day so far had been very pleasant. He made sure to walk a little ways behind the Dursleys, ensuring that Dudley and Piers couldn’t hurt him once they were bored by the exhibits. They had lunch in the zoo’s restaurant and Uncle Vernon couldn’t justify not ordering something for him, so he had gotten to enjoy an actual real lunch for the first time in a while. It was the cheapest salad on the menu, but it was still delicious.

With a genuine smile on his face, Akira trailed after the Dursleys as they visited the reptile house. He honestly should have known that his day was going a little too well.

The reptile house was cool and dark, with rows of lit windows along the walls. There were all sorts of snakes and lizards slithering over rocks and branches. Dudley and Piers wanted to see large, venomous cobras, and pythons that could crush a man with ease. They quickly located the largest snake in the place, which turned out to be a Brazilian Boa Constrictor, if the little plaque next to its tank was accurate.

It was was a gorgeous creature, sporting shiny brown scales with dark reddish saddle-shaped spots. According to the plaque, this specimen in particular was a male, bred in captivity ten years ago, was just over ten feet in length.

While Akira was reading the information about the snake, Dudley was pressing his nose against the glass, staring at the snake with a bored glare. The snake was coiled loosely around itself on a heated rock, snoozing comfortably.

“Make it move,” he whined. Uncle Vernon tapped the glass, but the snake didn’t even twitch. “Again,” Dudley ordered, and this time, Uncle Vernon rapped on the glass with his knuckles. His effort was to no effect, and Dudley stepped away from the glass with a huff.

“This is boring,” he moaned. He turned his back on the sleeping Boa Constrictor and left. Akira moved in front of the tank, where Dudley had been standing just a few seconds before, and examined the snake. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the poor thing had died of boredom itself. The tank was adequate for its needs, but it lacked the sense of freedom that came from living in the wild. He could sympathise, as he too, lacked the freedom others his age had. Just like Akira himself, the only company the snake had was the sound of stupid people tapping on his glass. Akira figured it must be worse for the snake, however, as he only had to worry about the Dursleys, and he was allowed to visit the rest of the house while doing his chores.

He was about to turn away from the snake to locate his Uncle, when the snake opened its beady black eyes and slowly raised its head, until, its eyes were on level with Akira’s.

It winked.

Akira stared curiously at the snake. Then he looked around to see if anyone was watching. Nobody seemed to be paying attention. He looked at the snake again and winked back.

The snake jerked his head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling, very plainly saying “I get that all the time”.

“I can imagine,” Akira murmured through the glass, though he wasn’t certain if his quiet voice would carry through the glass. “It must be very annoying.”

The snake nodded vigorously.

“Have you ever been away from this place?”

The snake shook its head. Akira nodded sadly. The snake slithered closer to the glass and looked at Akira closely, its head bobbing up and down in a thoughtful nod.

That was when the deafening yell of “Dudley! Mr. Dursley! Come and look at what this snake is doing!” sounded very close behind him, startling both him and the snake. Dudley stumbled towards them as fast as his legs would carry him.

“Out of the way, freak,” he said, punching Akira in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Akira fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so quickly that nobody, not even Akira, who was glaring angrily at his cousin and his friend, saw it happen. One second Dudley and Piers were leaning into the glass, the next, they were tumbling into the tank, and the snake was slithering out, after nipping playfully at the boys invading his tank.

People began screaming about the loose snake, and Aunt Petunia was rushing towards the tank where the glass had somehow reappeared, trapping the boys inside. As the snake slithered past him, it paused for a moment to brush its tail across his arm, and Akira could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, “Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo.”

You’re welcome?

Meanwhile, Aunt Petunia was yelling at the keeper of the reptile house, fighting back tears as she demanded they do something. Piers and Dudley were banging on the glass with terror-stricken expressions.

The reality of the situation hit him like a brick when Uncle Vernon stood over him, barely containing his rage. He really should have known today was going too well.

\---

Once again, Akira found himself lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his tiny cupboard. After the snake incident, his Aunt and Uncle decided it was best to head home. The entire trip, Dudley was going on about how the snake had nearly bitten his leg off, and Piers was certain that it had tried to squeeze him to death. Even worse, he began swearing up and down that he’d seen Akira talking to it.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out the house before unleashing his anger on Akira. He was so enraged he could hardly speak. He managed to choke out “Go-- cupboard--stay--no meals,’ before collapsing onto the couch. Aunt Petunia stopped to lock him in his tiny room before fetching him a large brandy.

It was now very dark out, and everyone was in bed, leaving Akira to himself. In times like these, he often lost himself in thought. Well, ‘thought’ wasn’t the right word. When he was locked in the cupboard for any amount of time, he would clear his mind of everything and just stare at the ceiling. Time passed quickly when he did this, and he would often break out of the strange trance the next time Aunt Petunia let him out to visit the bathroom.

He always had the same strange dream, of a sort, too. He would wake up sitting at a fancy oak desk in the center of a circular room lined with prison cells. The floor, walls and even ceiling were different shades of blue. A strange fog lingered a few inches above the floor, swirling whenever he walked.

A hallway branched off of the main room, leading to more cells, and a staircase. He didn’t go up the staircase after the first time because… ‘it’, lived there, behind a massive metal door. He never saw the creature, but he knew it was there because it occasionally let out great wheezing moans that echoed down the hallway.

The strange creature aside, this place was his safe haven in the almost ten long, miserable years that Akira had lived with the Dursleys. He felt safe sitting at that desk, for several reasons. The first being that he was utterly alone, aside from ‘it’, and the Dursleys could never find him here. The second reason was that he often had strange dreams and nightmares when he slept, but when he was in this prison, there was nothing.

These nightmares often left him tossing and turning all night. He could hear screaming, and bright flashes of green light blinded him. He would wake with a sharp, burning pain on his forehead, which led Akira to believe he was dreaming about the car crash, though he couldn’t quite explain away all the green light.

He never caught a glimpse of his parents, unfortunately, and he had no idea what they looked like, either. The Dursley’s despises his parents probably more than they hated him, so there were no pictures in the house. Asking questions was against the rules, but asking about his parents was like handing the Dursley’s an excuse to punish him. He didn’t even know their names, aside from his mother’s surname, Kurusu, because it was the same as Aunt Petunia’s maiden name.

As much as he appreciated his prison and its ability to stave off his nightmares, there were some downsides, Akira had noticed over the years. The most noticeable one was that he was always exhausted when he left the prison. It always felt like he had stayed up all night when Aunt Petunia dragged him out of his trance. The longer he was in the prison, the more tired he felt. In the end, he considered it a fair tradeoff, though, and fully embraced the strange room.

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do in his cupboard, aside from sleep or enter the prison, and nobody would miss him, because Dudley had done his best to make sure Akira had no friends. It was a very lonely existence, but he was used to it by now.


	2. The Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired... I should probably do another spell check before I post this but I'm too tried to care~

The incident with the snake had earned Akira his longest stay in the cupboard as of yet. By the time he was allowed to leave the cupboard again, the Summer Holidays had started. Akira wasn’t sure how they explained the number of days he had missed at the end. He wasn’t worried about the makeup exams they had scheduled for him at the end of the week though, because Dudley was incapable of doing his own homework. He would slide the papers under cupboard door with threats of beatings if he didn’t do it. His textbooks were sitting in the bag under his bed, so he read through the material to make sure he understood what he was doing, and Akira did the worksheets out of boredom, and for practice.

Dudley would beat him up regardless of whether or not Akira finished his worksheets, that is, if he remembered his threats later at all. It made Akira smile, knowing that once they went to separate schools, Dudley would struggle because he’d never done his own homework in his life. It was a miracle he’d learned to read, really. He could barely do simple math, and his spelling was atrocious. It was going to be glorious.

His cousin had spent the days after his birthday, as Akira predicted, breaking his new toys. The video camera hadn’t lasted a week before it ended up broken beyond repair. His computer was still in one piece, but three of the games were broken, because they were ‘boring’, which probably meant they were too hard for him to understand. What really made Akira mad was hearing Dudley brag about knocking over Mrs. Figg on his new bike. He filed that information away for later, until he could find a way to seek proper retribution when he was free.

The downside to finally being let out of his cupboard during the Summer Holidays was that Dudley and his gang were hanging around constantly. Aside from Piers, Dudley’s gang consisted of three other boys; Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon. There was hardly a single brain cell between the five of them, but Dudley was the biggest, and his parents had the most money, which somehow qualified him for leadership. They all enjoyed participating in Dudley’s favorite summer activity, which he called ‘Akira Hunting’. If he wasn’t in a constant state of paranoia, Akira would have laughed at the ridiculous name.

No, as dumb as it sounded, Dudley and gang did a surprisingly good job of tailing him. Piers would chase him down and try to corner him, while Dennis, another fast, wiry kid, would look for a way to cut him off. Dudley, Gordon and Malcolm would wait until Piers or Dennis got their hands of Akira before taking turns punching him until he was covered in bruises and bleeding. The worst thing was that he could be completely alone, and then out of nowhere, the sound of Pier’s feet pounding the pavement was his only warning to run.

There was a small spot of hope waiting for him at the end of the holidays. While he knew he would be attending a different school than his cousin, he hadn’t expected him to get into Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings, which was a private boarding school. Even better, Piers Polkiss was also going to Smeltings, leaving Akira alone for the first.

Akira himself was going to attend the local public school, Stonewall Academy. Dudley found it very funny that he would be attending Stonewall.

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told him. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”

“No, thank you,” Akira said, grinning because his Aunt and Uncle weren't within earshot. “I would rather not clean up after the toilet when it regurgitates your head.” Then he ran out the front door and was out of sight before Dudley could piece together what he’d said.

A little closer to the end of July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London so they could buy up his Smeltings uniform. She left Akira at Mrs. Figg’s house for the day, much to his relief. Mrs. Figg was still feeling some pain from the broken leg, which he learned was because she’d tripped over Mr. Tibbles the fifth. Instead of looking over her albums this time, she sat him down next to her bookshelf and let him read whatever he wanted while she reclined in her chair until lunch. Unlike cooking for the Dursleys, Akira didn’t mind helping Mrs. Figg out. While she sat at the kitchen table, Akira made them both egg salad sandwiches and sliced up fruit for a fruit salad.

That evening, Dudley was paraded around the living room by Aunt Petunia so everyone could admire his new uniform. The Smeltings uniform consisted of a garish maroon tailcoat over an equally ugly maroon shirt, orange ankle-length knickerbockers, and a flat straw hat called a boater. He also wore a striped maroon and orange tie around his neck. The only part of the eyesore of an outfit that wasn’t orange or maroon was his black shoes and bright white socks. He also had a knobby stick that was apparently for character building, according to Uncle Vernon, which was really code for ‘Dudley gets to hit people with a stick when the teacher isn’t looking’.

Uncle Vernon looked Dudley over with approval and said gruffly that this was the proudest moment in his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn’t believe her ‘Ickle Duddykins’ looked so handsome and grown up already. Akira was certain his ribs may have cracked from trying not to laugh.

His own uniform, Akira found out the next day, was much more tolerable, if not smelly and way too big for him. He crawled out of his cupboard early because the horrid scent wafting down the hall woke him before Aunt Petunia could. There was a large metal tub in the sink. He peered over the edge, wrinkling his nose, and counted out several rags swimming in murky grey liquid. After a moment, he realized they were clothes.

“What’s this?” He asked, already guessing it had to do with him. Aunt Petunia’s lips tightened like they always did when he asked a question.

“It’s your new uniform,” she said. “I won’t spend money on a uniform for you when I can dye Dudley’s old things for you. It’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’ve finished.”

Akira was fairly certain his ‘uniform’ would look very little like everyone else’s, but it was much easier on the eyes that Dudley’s uniform, so he said no more and started on making pancakes for the Dursley’s breakfast.

About half an hour later, Akira was sliding a huge stack of pancakes onto Dudley’s plate, along with an unhealthy amount of bacon and fried eggs, when Dudley and Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen with their noses scrunched up from the smell of Akira’s new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened the newspaper while Akira poured him a cup of coffee. Dudley sat in his seat and banged his Smelting stick, which he now carried everywhere, on the table.

Akira set to work cleaning the stove and counters while they ate breakfast, when there was a click from the mail slot swinging open and shut, accompanied by the flop of letters hitting the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” Uncle Vernon said absently from behind his newspaper.

“Make him get it,” Dudley whined.

“You heard him, boy, get the mail.”

Akira sighed, rinsing the soap from his hands and wiping them on his pants, and went to get the mail., There were three thing slaying on the doormat. The first was a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was on vacation on the isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like some sort of bill, and… a letter addressed to Akira?

He eyed it with a hint of suspicion. Nobody had ever sent him a letter before. Who would? He had no other relatives, no friends, and he was way too young to have bills of his own, or letters from schools wanting him to attend. Yet there, in neat looped handwriting, was a letter clearly addressed to him.

Mr. Akira Kurusu  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was also no stamp, which made him wonder if it was delivered by the sender, and not the mailman. Turning the letter over revealed a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter ‘H’. His hands began to tremble as he slipped his fingernail under the edge of the fold and started to lift.

“Hurry up, boy!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen, starting him. He dropped the letter, heart pounding. “What are you doing? Checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Akira swallowed thickly, gathered up the mail, and made his way back to the kitchen. He handed off the postcard and the bill, slipping the letter addressed to him in his pocket to read later when he was finished cleaning the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon set aside his newspaper and ripped open the bill, snorting with disgust. Akira gathered up the empty plates at the table and looked at the letter he tossed aside in favor of the postcard. It looked like an electricity bill, which was probably too high, considering how often Dudley forgot to turn off the lights when he went to bed.

“Ah, Marge’s ill,” Uncle Vernon informed AUnt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk--” suddenly, Akira felt Dudley reach into his pocket and yank the letter out. He lost his balance, cringing as one plate broke on the floor, and the others landed on his shirt, smearing sticky syrup and bacon grease down the front.

“Look, he’s stealing letters!” Dudley howled, waving his letter in the air. Akira felt a surge of anger, and leapt to his feet, grabbing the letter and trying to pull it out of his hands.

“Let go of it,” he hissed. It was his letter. Nobody ever sent him anything, while Dudley got whatever he wanted. Why couldn’t he let him have one thing of his own that wasn’t his ratty castoffs or some toy he dug out of the garbage?

He yelped when the Smelting stick Dudley hadn’t put down connected with his head, knocking his glasses askew. He lost his grip on the letter and Dudley pushed him to the ground, running to hand the letter off to Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia was yelling at him for attacking Dudley and ruining her dishes, Uncle Vernon was looking at Akira’s letter, and Akira himself was picking himself off the ground, carefully avoiding the shards of glass.

“P-P-Petunia!” Uncle Vernon gasped, drawing his Aunt’s attention away from him. His face was the color of old porridge. Dudley tried to grab the letter from his father, but Uncle Vernon held it out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously, and then too turned the color of old porridge, looking as though she might faint.

“Vernon! Oh my goodness-- Vernon!” They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten Akira and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley, not accustomed to being ignored, tapped his father sharply with the end of his Smelting stick, demanding to read it.

“It’s my letter,” Akira said. “I want to read it.”

“Get out, both of you,” Uncle Vernon croaked, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. Akira ignored him.

“It’s my letter,” he said again, narrowing his eyes at the man.

“Let me see it!” Dudley demanded.

“OUT!” Uncle Vernon roared, pushing them both out of the kitchen, slamming the door after them. Akira tried to press his ear against the keyhole, built Dudley pushed him out of the way again, so he settled for listening through the crack under the door, hoping they wouldn’t notice the smudge of grease and syrup when they came through later.

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address-- how could they possible know where he sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”

“Watching-- spying-- might be following us,” muttered Vernon wildly.

“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want--”

Akira could see Uncle Vernon was pacing back and forth, apparently deep in thought.

“No,” he said finally. “No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get a reply… Yes, that’s the best… we won’t do anything.”

“But--”

“I’m not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took him in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”

That was the last thing they heard before Uncle Vernon’s shoes made their way towards the door. Akira scrambled to his feet and retreated down the hall, unwilling to be caught eavesdropping. Dudley, for once in his life did something smart, also getting out of the way before he was caught.

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he’d never done before; he visited Akira in his cupboard.

“Where’s my letter?” Akira asked the moment Uncle vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?”

“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Akira said angrily, “It had my cupboard on it.”

“Silence!” Uncle Vernon yelled. A couple of spiders fell from the ceiling, skittering angrily across Uncle Vernon’s head. Akira chose not to tell him. He almost wished they were venomous. Uncle Vernon took a few deep breaths and forced a smile onto his face. It looked like he was grimacing in pain, really.

“Er-- yes, bo- Akira-- about this cupboard. Your Aunt and I have been thinking… you’re really getting a bit big for it…” technically, this was true. If he stood to his full height, there wasn’t much space left for his head, and he couldn't fully stretch out on the bed either. “...we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“Is this because of my letter?”

“Don't ask questions! And forget about the letter!” Snapped his Uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”

The Dursley’s house had four bedrooms. The biggest one was for his Aunt and Uncle. The second largest was Dudley’s room. The third largest was the guest room, which was really Aunt Marge’s room, because Akira couldn’t imagine anyone liked them enough to want to stay in the same house as them. The tiniest room, which wasn’t much smaller than the guest room, was Dudley's second bedroom. It was where he stored all the toys and things that didn't fit in his main bedroom.

It only took Akira one trip to move all of his belongings into the cluttered room. He only had a few things of his own. A couple of shirts and shorts, a few broken toys, and a few books he’d managed to salvage before Dudley destroyed them. He cleared off the small table by the bed and stacked everything neatly next to the lamp.

The room was an absolute mess. He sat down on the bed and looked around, taking in the sheer amount of forgotten junk, most of it broken. The month-old video camera was sitting on top of a working electric tank Dudley had once run over the neighbor’s dog with. In the corner was his first ever TV, which had a large hole in the screen from when Dudley put his foot through it after his favorite cartoon was canceled. In the corner was a large bird cage, which used to house a parrot that Dudley had wanted when he was younger, for some reason. It didn’t stay for long, as he’d smuggled the bird to school to trade another boy for a working air rifle, which no longer functioned because Dudley sat on it. The bent of thing was sitting on to of a shelf in the closet.

The only thing in the room that wasn’t destroyed was a bookshelf packed with books. These looked brand new, probably because Dudley wouldn't be caught dead reading. Akira made a mental note to browse the selection of new reading material when he wasn’t so angry about the letter.

Downstairs, he could hear Dudley bawling at his mother. Akira spread out on the bed, staring at the ceiling as Dudley wailed.

Breakfast the next morning was very silent and awkward. Aunt Petunia didn’t even bother sitting at the table. She stood over the sink, scrubbing at a pan. Uncle Vernon was gripping his newspaper so tightly that his knuckles were white, and he very likely wasn’t reading it at all. Dudley was in a state of shock. He’d screamed, he’d cried, whacked his father with his stick until it was taken away from him, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back.

Akira hoped the tortoise escaped. He looked for it after Dudley had gone inside and collapsed in his room, crying until he made himself sick, but it wasn’t on the ground near the greenhouse, or on the roof. When he finally gave up his search, he went to his own room and thought about throwing Dudley through the greenhouse roof for taking his letter.

Akira was poking at the runny egg on his plate when the mail arrived. For some reason, his Aunt and Uncle were trying to be nice to him. Aunt Petunia made him breakfast, and Uncle Vernon asked Dudley to get the mail, snapping at him when he whined about it. Their behaviour made Akira’s desire to know what the letter said burn even hotter with their every action.

They heard Dudley banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There’s another one! ‘Mr. A. Kurusu, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive--” Akira bolted from his seat, scrambling to get to Dudley before Vernon. With his head start, he leapt for Dudley, working on prying the letter from his hands when Uncle Vernon came in fast. He reached between the boys and gripped the letter, yanking on it until he managed to pull it free, sending Akira and Dudley falling backwards.

“Go to your cupboard-- I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Akira. “Dudley-- go-- just go.”

Akira did so with a huff, throwing himself on his bed. Someone had known he no longer slept in the cupboard. But how? And how did they know he didn’t receive his first letter? If they went to the trouble of sending another, would they try again? If so, he wanted to make sure he got the next one.

His alarm clock rang at six o’clock the next morning. He shut it off immediately and dressed silently, creeping down the stairs without turning on any lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered in his chest as he crept across the dark hall to the front door--

Akira leapt in the air; he’d stepped on something large and squishy on the doormat-- something alive. Lights clicked on upstairs, and to his horror, he realized he’d stepped on his Uncle’s face. Uncle Vernon had anticipated him sneaking out, and slept in a sleeping bag at foot of the front door all night, waiting for him. He shouted at Akira for about half an hour and sent him to the kitchen to make him some tea. By the time Akira got back with a steaming cup of tea in hand, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. He made sure to let Akira see the green ink before tearing the letters to shreds in front of him.

Akira set the tea down and breathed deeply.

Uncle Vernon didn’t go to work that day. Instead, he stayed home and nailed up the mail slot.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can't deliver them they’ll just give up.”

“I’m not sure that will work, Vernon.”

“Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Akira. Since the slot was boarded over, they slipped them under the door, some through the sides, and even a few through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed home again. After burning the letters, he got out his hammer and nails and set about boarding up and cracks around the front and back doors so that no one could come in or got out. While he worked, he hummed “Tiptoe Through the Tulips”, jumping at any small noise. Akira, meanwhile, hunted the entire house to see if Uncle Vernon had missed any letters. He hadn’t.

Saturday is when things really got out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Akira found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman handed to Aunt Petunia through the window that morning. While Uncle Vernon made furious phone calls to both the post office and the dairy company to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded his letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?” Dudley asked him in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and ill, but oddly cheerful.

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspaper. “No damn letters today--”

At that moment, something came whizzing out of the fireplace, hitting him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came flying out of the fireplace like a hail of bullets. The Durlsley’s ducked, while Akira made a grab for the envelopes.

“Out! OUT!”

Uncle Vernon shrieked. He seized Akira around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their heads, he slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floors.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly while pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Akira was the first up the stairs. He dumped his old textbooks out of his bookbag and quickly folded his clothes, shoving them neatly into the bag. There was plenty of space left when he was finished, so he went ahead and spent the next minute browsing the bookshelf for something interesting to read. He finally pulled a few random books with interesting titles.

Ten minutes later, they wrenched the boards off the doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for trying to pack his TV, VCR and computer in his sports bag. Akira was curled up in the seat behind Uncle Vernon, reading about jungle cats from a very informative book he happened to grab.

They drove for hours, not stopping once. Not even Petunia dared ask where they were going. Every now and then, he would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. “Shake’em off… shake’em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He’d never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he’d missed five television programs he’d wanted to see, and he’d never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer. Akira had finished the sections about jungle cats hours ago, and moved on to the longer sections on deep sea creatures. He was almost finished when it got too dark to read and he was forced to put the book in his bag for later. Luckily, he found listening to Dudley complain about the things Akira missed out on every day was very entertaining.

Uncle Vernon finally stopped at a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Akira shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but Akira stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of the passing cars and wondering if the mysterious sender of his letters had followed them.

The next morning came and he blinked awake. He’d fallen asleep sometime during the night, but the sky was still greyish outside. They had stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

“‘Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. A. Kurusu? Only got about an ‘undred of these at the front desk.”

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address.

Mr. A. Kurusu  
Room 17  
Railview Hotel  
Cokeworth

Akira made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way before he could grip ity. The woman stared.

“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

Hours later, they were doing a repeat of the previous day, driving for hours, Akira managed to finish the entire book about animals and had moved on to another, which turned out to be mystery novel.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly a few hours into the drive. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and they were off again. The same thing happened again later in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multi-level parking garage.

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops of water beat off the roof of the car. Dudley snivelled.

“It’s Monday,” he told his mother. “The Great Humberto’s on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television.”

Monday. This reminded Akira of something vaguely important. If it was Monday-- and he could always count of Dudley knowing the days of the week based on his television schedule-- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Akira’s eleventh birthday. Of course, the Dursleys never really cared about his birthday, so they were never very fun-- last year, for example, they made him do yard work in the sun until his skin was red and itchy, and his present for all his hard work was a pair of old socks. Still, it wasn’t every day you turned eleven, and that meant he was one year closer to freedom from his relatives, which was something worth celebrating.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long thin package, and didn’t answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he’d bought.

”Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack Akira had ever seen. One thing was for certain, Dudley wasn’t going to be watching the Great Humberto that night.

“Storm forecast for tonight!” Said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. Akira huddled into a ball around his bag, hoping to keep the books inside from getting wet. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was as horrible as the outside; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms in the miserable little shack.

Uncle Vernon's rations ended up being a bag of chips each and four bananas. Akira managed to convince Dudley to trade the banana for the chips, which he happily agreed to, as he hated fruit, and thought the chips would be more filling. After ‘dinner’, Uncle Vernon tried to start a fire, but the only kindling he had was the potato chip bags, but the just smoked and shriveled up. Akira was glad Uncle Vernon hadn't paid him much attention in the car, or else he might have taken his books.

“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully, poking at the smoking bits of plastic with an iron poker. Despite the circumstances, he in a very good mood, Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in the storm to deliver mail. Akira agreed that it was very unlikely, though the thought did the exact opposite of cheer him up.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them, Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia managed to find a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Akira was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and curl up under the the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

He may as well have not put the blanket on at all. It was too short and barely reached his knees even when he curled up, and the fabric was thinner than paper, offering almost no warmth. He ended up unpacking his clothes and pulling them all on over each other, curling up in an even tighter ball, and clutching the blanket around his shoulders.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Akira couldn't sleep. He shivered under several layers of cloth and turned over, trying to get comfortable. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his wrist, told Akira he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Akira heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof didn’t cave in. He didn’t think the Dursleys would care enough to dig him out of the ruble if it did. Four minutes to go. Akira wondered if the letters were still pouring through the fireplace at Privet Drive. Maybe the house would fill with so many that the pressure forced the boards apart and the building crumbled.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten… nine -- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him -- three... two… one...

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Akira shot up like a bullet, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the point where I plan on doing some different things~ As soon as we get to diagon alley...


	3. I'm a What?

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake, a dumb look on his face. “Where’s the canon?” He said groggily.

 

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands that Akira guessed came from the long thin package he’d picked up earlier.

 

“Who’s there?” He shouted. “I warn you-- I’m armed!”

 

There was a pause, then with a loud, resounding crack, the door was knocked off of its hinges and went crashing to the floor. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard. A small patch of face was visible under the mess, revealing his eyes, which were beady and black, almost like two beetles had taken up residence on his face.

 

The giant man squeezed into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. After checking it for a few moments, nodding approvingly, he turned to face them all.

 

“Couldn’t make us a cup o’tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey…”

 

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley was huddled under his ratty blanket.

 

“Budge up, yeh great lump,” said the stranger. Dudley shrieked and ran to hide behind his mother, who in turn was cowering behind Uncle Vernon.

 

“An’ here’s Akira!” Akira frowned, scooting a little further away from the man. Was he the one sending the letters?

 

The man leaned forward. There was a strange, fond expression that threw Akira for a loop, as the only one he’d ever received such a look from to his memory was Mrs. Figg.

 

“Las’ time I saw yeh, yeh was only a baby,” he said. “Yeh look a lot like your dad, but yeh’ve got your mum’s eyes.”

 

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise. “I demand you leave at once, sir!” He said, sounding panicked. “You are breaking and entering!”

 

“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune.” He reached over the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon’s hands, not flinching as it went off, leaving a new set of holes in the ceiling, bent it into a knot as if it were made of rubber, and threw it into a corner where it was soon forgotten. Uncle Vernon’s angry red face suddenly turned very pale, and he made a terrified little squeak, like a mouse in a trap.

 

“Anyway-- Akira,” the man said, turning back to him, “a very happy birthday to  yeh. Got summat fer yeh here-- I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.”

 

From the inside of pocket of his massive black coat, he pulled a slightly squashed box and held it out to him. Akira slowly got to his feet and stepped closer, accepting the box. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday Akira’ written in green icing.

 

Akira looked at the man in confusion. “I appreciate the gift, sir, but who are you?” The man chuckled.

 

“Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.” He held out a large hand and shook Akira’s entire arm.

 

“What about that tea then, eh?” he said, rubbing his hands together. Nobody moved.  His eyes roamed the small hut until he found the fireplace, snorting at the sight up shriveled plastic bags. He bent down over the fireplace and did something, though Akira couldn’t see around his impressive frame. A moment later, he drew back to reveal a roaring fire in the once soaked spot. The fire cast an orange glow over the entire room, and a wave of delicious heat soon followed. Akira moved closer to the fire, soaking in the warmth.

 

Hagrid effortlessly dragged the sofa closer to the fireplace and  sat back down, then on the sofa and began to pull out a strange manner of things, including a copper kettle, a few packs of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs and a bottle of amber liquid. Soon the hut was filled with the sound of sizzling sausages, a shrieking kettle, and a strange song hummed by Hagrid as he worked. Nobody said anything while he was cooking, but when he started pouring out the tea and pulled the first few delicious looking sausages from the poker, Dudley started to fidget.

 

“Don’t accept anything he gives you, Dudley,” Uncle Vernon said sharply, setting his hand heavily on his son’s shoulder.

 

“Don’ worry Dursley,” Hagrid chuckled darkly, “Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ anymore.”

 

Akira smiled, accepting the mug of tea. A moment later, Hagrid slid a plate of sausages to him. Akira thanked him and ate his sausages while watching him prepare another package of sausages for himself.

 

“Excuse me,” he interrupted after finishing his tea, setting the empty cup aside, “ but can you tell me more? I still don’t really know who you are.”

 

Hagrid wiped a bit of tea from his mouth on the back of his hand. “Call me Hagrid. Everyone does. An’ as I told yeh, I’m the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts-- yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.”

 

“Sorry, but I’ve actually never heard of Hogwarts, sir- Hagrid.”

 

Hagrid looked shocked.

 

“I’m sorry,” Akira said again.

 

“Sorry?” Hagrid barked, turning to glare at the Dursleys, who were huddled together in the shadows. “It’s them who should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?”

 

“All of what?” Akira asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

 

“All what?!” Hagrid thundered, leaping to his feet. “Now wait jus’ one second!” He was glaring at the Dursleys once more, who were now cowering in fear of the anger that seemed to fill the entire room. If Akira wasn’t a bit scared himself, he might have found the expression on Uncle Vernon’s pale face funny.

 

“Do you mean ter tell me,” Hagrid growled, “that this boy-- this boy!-- knows nothin’ about anything?”

 

“But, I have been to school. I can do math, and…” Hagrid waved him off.

 

“I meant about our world. Your world. My world. Yer parent’s world.”  
  
“W-what world?”   
  
Hagrid looked like he was about to explode. Akira backed away and watched while Hagrid tore into his Uncle.

 

“DURSLEY! What’s the meaning of this?!”

 

Uncle Vernon attempted to speak, but everything he said came out like a strangled whimper. Hagrid stared disbelievingly at Akira.

 

“But, yeh must know-- about yer mum and dad?” He said. “I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous.”  
  
Famous? His parents were… famous? He shook his head. If his parents were celebrities or something, wouldn’t people know who he was? Is that what the letters were for? Someone writing to him about his parents?

 

“Yeh don’ know… yeh don’ know…” Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Akira with a bewildered, sad stare. “Yeh don’ know what yeh are?” he said finally.

 

Uncle Vernon suddenly seemed to remember how to speak, pushing himself off the wall. “Stop!” He commanded. “Stop right there! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!”

 

“You never told him?” Hagrid’s voice was quivering with barely contained rage. “Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An’ yeh’ve kept it from him all these years?”

 

“Kept me from what?” He felt a rush of excitement. He was finally going to know what Uncle Vernon had tried to keep from him.

 

“STOP! I forbid you!” Uncle Vernon looked panicked. Aunt Petunia gasped, clutching at the collar of her nightgown, looking pleadingly at Uncle vernon and Hagrid equally.

 

“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” Hagrid frowned. “Akira-- yer a wizard.”  
  
The hut seemed devoid of sound. Nobody spoke for a moment after Hagrid’s confession, and even the fire seemed to grow silent. The only sound was the faint whistle of the wind and the occasional crash of waves hitting rock.

 

“I-- I’m a… what?” It was far from what Akira had been expecting. Politicians, movie stars, authors, those seemed like normal calls to fame, but his parents were famous for magic tricks? How did that make Akira special?

 

“A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid, sitting back on the sofa once more. “An’ a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An I reckon it’s about time yeh read yer letter.” Hagrid offered a letter that looked exactly like the others Akira had seen over the past few days.

 

Akira stretched out his hand to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green ink, to Mr. A. Kurusu, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. Finally, it was in his grasp. He pulled the letter out, and read:

 

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

 

**Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**

 

**Dear Mr. Kurusu, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 

**Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,**

 

**Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress**

 

Akira suddenly wished he had something to drink. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. Was this real? There was no way this was real, but it was all very elaborate for a simple prank, and the Dursleys certainly too wound up about it to be something like that. There were so many questions bouncing around in his head. Could he really be a wizard? What was a ‘Mugwump’? What did it mean, ‘they await my owl’?

 

He finally pulled himself together enough to ask Hagrid, who looked started, and slapped his palm to his forehead. Suddenly he reached into yet another pocket-- how much space was in that coat, anyway?-- and pulled out an owl. A living, breathing owl. This only brought more questions to his head. He wasn’t done there, however. He continued searching his pockets until he pulled out a long feather quill, a bottle of ink and a roll of parchment paper.

 

His handwriting was large enough that Akira could read it easily, even upside down.

 

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

 

Given Akira his letter

 

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.

 

Hagrid

 

Hagrid then rolled up the note and gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the poor creature out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as if this was a normal everyday thing, like talking on the telephone.

 

Akira wondered if he was dreaming.

 

“Now, where was I?” Hagrid said, looking at him again, but then Uncle Vernon stepped into the light of the fire, looking pale, but very angry.

 

“He’s not going,” he said.

 

“I’d like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him,” Hagrid snorted.

 

“A Muggle? What’s that?”  
  
“A Muggle,” Hagrid explained, “is what we call folks like them,” he jerked his head in Uncle vernon’s direction. “It’s bad luck yeh grew up with the biggest family o’ Muggles I ever laid eyes on.”   
  
“Now look here,” Uncle Vernon said, “we swore when we took him in that we’d put a stop to that rubbish. Swopre we’d stamp it out of him! He will not be going to that freak school of yours!”

 

“You knew?| Akira asked quietly. “You knew I’m a-- a wizard, and you never told me?”  
  
“Knew?!” Aunt Petunia shrieked very suddenly. “You knew, he asks! Of course we knew, what with my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got her letter and disappeared off to that- that school- and came home every vacation with pockets full of frog eyes, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who ever saw her for the freak she was, but my mother and father were so proud! It was always Lily this, Lily that!”

 

She stopped to take a deep, shuddering breath, and continued her rant.

 

“And then she met that Potter at school. And they left and had you! Not even married yet, and already she brought another freak into the family! I knew you’d be the same, just as strange, just as abnormal, and then she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!” With all of this off her chest, Aunt Petunia quieted down, and glared at him.

 

Akira curled his fingers into the fabric of his sleeve. “Blow up? You told me they died in a car crash...”

 

“Car crash?!” Hagrid roared, towering over the Dursleys who scuttled back into their corners, losing any of the courage they’d worked up moments earlier. “How could a car crash kill Lily and james? It’s an outrage! A Scandal! Akira not knowin’ his own story when every other kid in our world knows his name!”

 

Hagrid’s anger faded and was replaced by a more anxious expression.

 

“I had no idea, Akira, I knew Dumbledore said there might be trouble gettin’ hold of yeh, but-- I don’ know if I’m the one who should be tellin’ yeh-- but someone has ter tell yeh, can’t go off not knowin’...” He ran his fingers through his hair again, twisting some of the strands. “Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh-- mind, I can’t tell yeh everythin’, it’s a great myst’ry, parts of it…”

 

He sat down and stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, ‘It begins, I suppose, with-- with a person called-- but it’s incredible yeh don’t know hi sname… everyone in our world knows--”

 

“Who?”

 

“Well-- I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does.”  
  
“Why?”   
  
“People are still scared o’ him, that’s why. Blimey, this is difficult… See, there was a wizard who went… bad. Bad as yeh can go. His name was… w-was…” Hagrid swallowed roughly.

 

“Could you write it down?” Akira suggested.

 

“Nah, can’t spell it. All right-- V-Voldemort.” Hagrid shuddered. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyway, this wizard about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got a whole lot of em’. Some were just afraid of him, some wanted some o’ the power he was gettin’. Dark days, Akira, didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange witches and wizards… terrible things happened. He was winning, takin’ over. ‘Course some brave folks stood up to him-- an’ he killed ‘em. Terrible the things he’d do. One o’ the safest places left in the world was Hogwarts-- Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of, see. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, least not before the end of the war, that is.”

 

“Now yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch n’ wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an’ girl in their day, y’know. Suppose the real myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to turn ‘em to his cause. Probably knew they were too closer ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade ‘em… maybe he just wanted ‘em outta the way. All we know is he turned up in the village you was all living in, ten years ago come Halloween. Just a year old, came ter yer house an’-- an’--”

 

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very large, dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his noise.

 

“Sorry,” he said, “but it’s that sad-- knew yer parents, couldn’t find many much nicer than Lily an’ James… Anyway, You-Know-Who killed ‘em, and then, the real myst’ry o’ the thing is, tried to kill you too. Wanted to make it a clean job, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then, but he couldn’t do it. That’s how yeh got that mark on yer forehead. That was no ordinary cut, Akira, that’s a cursed scar. S’what happens when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh-- took yer mum an’ dad, and the house was gone too, but he couldn’t kill you. Killed some o’ the best witches and wizards o’ the age-- the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts-- but not you, only a baby an’ you lived.”

 

As Hagrid explained, Akira thought about the nightmares he had about the ‘car crash’, and how now, the green light all made sense. It was magic, and there was no car crash at all. As he drew his story to a close, Akira could remember more clearly than before, the screams, the loud crashes, the green light, and suddenly, something new: a high, cold, cruel laugh that made his spine tingle and his body shudder. Hagrid watched him sadly.

 

“Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…”

 

“Rubbish,” Uncle Vernon said. Held been so quiet, Akira thought he’d left. Uncle Vernon seemed to find another flicker of courage and glared at Hagrid with his fists clenched tight.

 

“Now, listen here, boy,” he snarled at Akira, “ I accept there’s something wrong with you, something even a good beating hasn’t cured-- and as for your parents, well, the world's better off without them, in my opinion-- asked for all they got,--”

 

Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat and pointed it at Uncle Vernon like a sword. “I’m warning you, Dursley, one more word…” Uncle Vernon’s flicker of courage died out and he retreated once more to his cowering. “That’s better” Hagrid said, breathing heavily.

 

While Hagrid was threatening Uncle Vernon again, Akira was entertaining hundreds of questions, not quite sure what to ask first.

 

“What happened to Vol-- sorry, I mean, what happened to You-Know-Who?”

 

“Good question, Akira. He disappeared. Vanished, same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. No one knows where he went, he was getting so powerful, after all. Some say he died. Codswallop, if you ask me. Wasn’t enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin’ his time, but I don’t believe that either. People on his side came back ter ours soon as he left. Some of em’ came outta trances. Don’ think they;d have done that if he was coming back.”  
  
“Most of us think he's still out there, but too weak to carry on. Lost all his power, ‘cause something about you finished him, Akira. Something he hadn’t counted on, dunno what it was, but somethin’ about you stopped him.”

 

Hagrid gave him that fond look he’d shown earlier that night, but Akira wasn’t pleased to know it was because of everything he’d just heard. How could he have done something as great as that? He couldn’t even stop Dudley from beating him or Aunt Petunia locking him in the cupboard.

 

“Are you sure it’s me? I’ve never done magic, Hagrid. I couldn’t have defeated anybody.”  


Strangely enough, Hagrid chuckled at his admission.

 

“Haven’t you ever made somethin’ strange happen when you were scared or angry?”

 

Akira thought back to the incident at the Zoo. He’d been upset when Dudley and Piers pushed him to the ground, and the glass suddenly disappeared long enough to trap them inside. Had that been his doing? Or the time his hair had grown back after Aunt Petunia butchered it?

 

“Well, there were a few times.”  
  
“That’s the spirit, Akira. Just you wait, you’ll do just fine at Hogwarts.”

 

Uncle Vernon, who at this point Akira decided would never learn when to shut up, decided to antagonize Hagrid even further.

 

“I’ve already said, the boy isn’t going! He’ll be attending Stonewall Academy, and he’ll be grateful! I’ve seen those letters, and I won’t pay penny towards cauldrons and spell books, so some crackpot old fool can teach him magic tricks!”  
  
Finally, Hagrid lost his patience. Uncle Dursley had finally gone too far, and Hagrid seized his umbrella. “Never,” he thundered, “insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!” He brought his umbrella down in a sweeping motion, and a bright flash of violet light erupted from the end of it, hitting Dudley. His cousin howled in pain, and clasped his hands over his bottom, jumping up and down on the spot. When he turned his back, Akira saw a curly pig’s tail sticking out of his pajamas.

 

Uncle Vernon yelled, dragging Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the second room. With one last horrified look, he slammed the door shut.

 

“Shouldn't have lost my temper,” he muttered. “Be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts. I’m, er, not supposed to do magic, aside from what I needed ter get yer letter to yeh. I was expelled yeh see, snapped my wand in half… Dumbledore let me stay as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore...”

 

Akira shrugged. Hagrid smiled and slipped off his coat, throwing it to him. “It’s gettin’ late, and we got lots ter do tomorrow. Gotta get up ter town, get yer books and all that. You best get some sleep”

 

Akira curled up in the coat, pulling the edges over his body. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep at all, with all that he’d just learned, but soon enough, the sounds of the howling wind was suddenly gone and there was light streaming through the many holes and cracks in the walls. A loud tapping noise drew his attention to the window, where a brown blob was waiting behind the glass. Akira slipped his glasses on his face and realized it was another owl. It held a newspaper in its beak, and tapped the window with sharp claw.

 

He stumbled to his feet, tripping on the large coat a few times time before making it to the window. He jerked it open, allowing the owl to swoop in and drop the newspaper on Hagrid, who was still asleep on the sofa. He didn’t wake up when the newspaper landed on him, and the bird fluttered onto the floor with a hoot, attacking the coat.

 

“Hey, that’s not very nice,” Akira scolded, getting his knees and shooing the bird away. It snapped at his hand with its beak and continued its assault.

 

“Excuse me Hagrid, but there’s an owl attacking your coat.”  
  
“Pay him,” Hagrid grunted from the sofa.

 

“I don't have any money.”  
  
“In the pocket. Look for five knuts,” he explained sleepily. Akira frowned, but started looking through the pockets. The owl stopped ripping at the coat and hopped onto Akira’s shoulder as he searched, starling him. It hooted impatiently when he stopped, tapping his head with its beak. Despite the obvious threat, Akira found the whole situation humorous, and searched with a smile.

 

There were all sorts of strange things in the pockets, which he should have realized after watching Hagrid pull an  od assortment of things from it the previous night. There were so many pockets, too. One of them was filled with keys, and another held teabags, bits of string, a couple of bone shaped biscuits, and finally, he found one with a few strange looking coins. There were about ten tiny bronze ones and a couple of larger silver ones. He counted out only four silver coins, so he assumed the knuts were the bronze ones, and slipped five of them from the pocket. The owl fluttered off of his shoulder, and landed on the coat again, holding its leg out. A tiny leather pouch was fastened to its leg and had enough room to slip the coins through.

 

As soon as he pulled the drawstring, the owl took off through the open window. Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

 

“Best be off, Akira, lots ter to do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all yer stuff fer school.”

 

“Hagrid, how am I to pay for my supplies?”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Hagrid said, standing up. “D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?”

 

“But if their house was destroyed…” Did banks accept wizard money?  
  
“They didn’t keep their money in the house! It’ll be at Gringotts, the wizards’ bank. Run by Goblins.”   
  
“Goblins?”

 

“Yeah-- yeh’d be mad ter try and rob Gringotts. Goblins are ruthless. Never mess with Goblins, Akira. Gringotts is the safest place to keep anything-- ‘cept maybe Hogwarts, of course. We’ll be headed there first, of course, to get your money. I have a bit o’ business there myself, for Dumbledore. He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Like fetching you and gettin’ things from Gringotts-- he trusts me, see.”

 

Akira nodded absently, wondering what the Goblins would be like, and then what Dumbledore himself was like. He wasn’t really sure what to think of the man. Hagrid, who Akira already liked quite a bit, seemed to think the world of him, but he was also the one who put him with the Dursleys. Then again, if what Hagrid has implied earlier was true, Dumbledore didn't know the Dursleys were going to hide everything from him.

 

“Ready ter go, Akira?” Hagrid broke him out of his thoughts. “Long day ahead of us, and all.”  


“Oh, right.” Akira gathered up his few belongings. It was a lot warmer out now, so he shed the top layers of his clothes and folded them neatly, putting them back in his bag with the books. Hagrid moved the door out of the way when he was finished and they stepped into the sunlight. It was actually very pretty now that he could see. The sun hitting the water made it sparkle, and he could see the coast where Uncle Vernon had parked his car near the previous night.

 

The tiny boat from before was full of water from the storm, but there was no damage to to structure,. Hagrid effortlessly tipped the boat and the water rushed out. Akira looked around for another boat, wondering if perhaps it had been damaged, but there was no sign of it.

 

“How did you get here, by the way?”

 

“Flew,” Hagrid said.

 

“You… flew?”  
  
“Yeah-- but we’ll go back in the boat. Not supposed to do magic now I’ve got yeh.” Akira tried to imagine Hagrid flying, but it wasn’t very easy. Did he flap his arms, like an owl, or did he float? Did his umbrella carry him on the wind?

 

They settled into the boat. Akira shifted uncomfortably as the water soaked into his pants.

 

“Seems a shame ter row, though,” he mumbled. He gave Akira a sideways glance. “If I were ter, er, speed things along, would yeh mind not mentioning it at Hogwarts?”

 

“Of course I won’t,” Akira promised. He watched with rapt attention as Hagrid took his pink umbrella out and tapped the side of the boat twice, eager to figure out how it worked. There wasn’t a flash of light or any sounds this time, but the boat sped off towards the mainland nonetheless. The entire trip, Akira leaned over the front of the boat, watching the wood cut through the water much faster than it should have. Hagrid was reading his newspaper, occasionally muttering something or humming in approval.

 

“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,” caught Akira’s attention.

 

“Is that like the wizarding equivalent of government?”  
  
“Yeah. They wanted Dumbledore for Minister, but he said no, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. He’s a real bungler,m if there ever was one, so he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”

 

“What exactly does the Ministry of Magic do? Are they a branch of the main government?”  
  
“The Ministry o’ Magic is its own government. The Muggle Prime Minister and the Minister o’ Magic know each other, but the rest of the Muggles don’t know we exist.”   
  
“Why is that?”   
  
“Why?” Hagrid snorted. “There are some things magic can’t do, Akira. If the Muggles knew about magic, they’d want us to solve all their problems. It’s best we’re left alone.”

 

Akira wasn’t quite what to think about that, but in the end it didn’t matter because the boat suddenly bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper and they clamored up the stone steps onto the street, leaving the boat where it was. Akira briefly wondered how the Dursleys would escape the island when he notciced the boat was returning, though at a much more sedate pace. They might make it back to the mainland by lunch if if kept up that pace.

 

Passersby stared at Hagrid as they made their way through the little town to the station. He couldn’t blame them, though. He was at least twice as tall as everyone else, and he had a habit of pointing to completely innocuous things like parking meters and saying loudly, “See that, Akira? Muggles dream up the strangest things.”

 

Eventually they reached the station with little trouble, and Hagrid handed Akira wad of ‘Muggle Money’ so he could get the tickets. There was a train leaving for London in five minutes, so the pair rushed to find seats. Hagrid took up two of them, which only made people stare more, especially when he pulled out a pair of knitting needles and began to work on what looked like a canary yellow tent.

 

“Still got yer letter, Akira?” he asked. Akira nodded, and pulled out the letter. “Good. There’s a list of supplies yeh’ll need for school.”

 

Akira looked into the envelope and noticed a second piece of paper was nestled behind the first. He unfolded it and began to read:  
  
**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

 

**UNIFORM**

 

**First-year students will require:**

 

  1. **Three sets of plain work robes (black)**
  2. **One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**
  3. **One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**
  4. **One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings)**



 

**Please note that all pupil’s clothes should carry name tags.**

 

**COURSE BOOKS**

 

**All students should have a copy of the following:**

 

**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk**

**A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot**

**Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling**

**A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch**

**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore**

**Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger**

**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander**

**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble**

 

**OTHER EQUIPMENT**

 

**One Wand**

**One Cauldron (pewter, size 2)**

**One set glass or crystal phials**

**One telescope set**

**Brass Scales**

 

**Students may also bring an owl OR cat OR toad**

 

**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**

 

Could they really buy all of this in London? And more importantly, he could have a cat?  
  
“Hagrid, the letter says I can have a pet. Is that true?”   
  
Hagrid’s eyes lit up. “Of course yeh can bring a pet. Most kids get an owl ter write home with, actually.”   
  
“Will I have enough to buy all my supplies and a cat?” He asked.

 

“I already told yeh, Akira, yeh don’t have ter worry about the money. Yer parents left you enough ter get by.” Akira nodded.

 

“Where are we going to find all of this in London? Is there some sort of specialty store?”  
  
“Yeh’ll see soon enough,” Hagrid replied. Then he paused. “Wait, a cat, yeh said?”

 

“I love cats. My neighbor has a bunch of them. Don’t tell anyone, but my favorite is Mr. Tibbles. He’s very smart, except for the time he broke Mrs. Figg’s leg, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it, he’s usually quite the gentleman.”

 

It was about them that the train finally ground to a halt in London. Akira had never actually been to London before, but Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, though he obviously had some other means of transportation than the train system. He managed to get stick in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

 

“I don’t know how the Muggles can manage without magic,” Hagrid said as the climbed a broken down escalator to the streets above. They emerged on a bustling road lined with shops, none of which, Akira noticed, would have sold anything remotely similar to what he needed.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Akira said, chasing after Hagrid through the streets. It wasn't hard to follow him through the crowd, as people parted like the red sea when he got close. They walked for a while, passing music shops and restaurants, but Akira couldn’t picture any of them selling wands and spell books.

 

“This is it,” Hagrid said, coming to a halt in front of a grubby-looking pub. “The Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place. We’ll get some breakfast, though I suppose it’s nearly lunch by now, and head to the stores after.” If he hadn’t pointed it out, Akira didn’t think he would have seen it. Everyone who passed by it seemed to ignore its existence. He had a feeling that only he and Hagrid noticed it was there, but before he could ask, Hagrid steered him inside.

 

It was very dark and shabby, for a famous place. A few old women were sitting in a corner drinking from tiny glasses. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who had the appearance of a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped abruptly when they walked in. Everyone seemed to be well acquainted with Hagrid, and called out ‘good mornings’ and waved.

 

“The usual, Hagrid?” The bartender smiled, already reaching for a glass.

 

“Can’t, Tom, sorry. I’m on Hogwarts business,” Hagrid said, clapping his great hand on Akira’s shoulder. He thought his knees might give out and send him sprawling to the floor, but he managed to stay on his feet.

 

“Good Lord,” said the bartender, peering at Akira. “Is this-- can this be--” The entire pub had gone completely silent and nothing seemed to be moving. “Bless my soul, you’re Akira Kurusu, aren’t you? What an honor…” He sniffed as if he were crying, and hurried out from behind the bar,  rushing towards Akira to grip his hand in a firm handshake. Looking awkwardly up at the man, Akira saw there really were tears in his eyes, and he felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Welcome back, Mr. Kurusu, welcome back.”

 

Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was still puffing away despite no smoke coming out. The man in the top hat stared at him dumbly with his mouth hanging open. Hagrid looked proud. Akira swallowed roughly. When Hagrid said he was famous, he’s expected maybe a few people would point and stare, but when every occupied chair in the room scraped across the floor and a flurry of people surrounded him, he found himself wishing they were still outside.

 

People gripped his hand and shook it, passing from one to another, thanking him and crying on him.

 

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Kurusu, can’t believe I’m meeting you at least.”  
  
“So proud, Mr. Kurusu, I’m just so proud.”

 

“Always wanted to shake your hand-- I’m all a flutter!”  
  
“Delighted, Mr. Kurusu, just can’t tell you! Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

 

After he was sure he’d shaken every hand in the pub, they still kept coming. He shook hands with Doris Crockford at least six more times before, thank whatever god was up there, Tom the bartender ordered everyone to settle down. Finally the patrons backed off of him a little, though they still lurked, and as he was recovering from the sudden attention, one final person approached him. He was a pale, squirrely young man with a great purple turban wrapped around his head. One of his eyes was twitching when he reached out to shake his hand.

 

“K-K-Kurusu,” he stammered. “C-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”  
  
“Professor Quirrell! Akira, this is one of yer professors.

 

“Hello, Professor. What type of magic do you teach?”  
  
“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” the professor muttered, as if he didn’t want to think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, K-K-Kurusu?” He laughed nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to -p-pick up a b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the thought.

 

“Alright, move on, lots ter do today. Come on, Akira. Tom, let’s get the lunch menu for Akira here.”

 

“Right away, Hagrid. Here, come to the kitchen. Let the boy eat his lunch in peace.” He looked over the crowd. “Now I don’t want any of you interrupting Mr. Kurusu, you hear?”

Tom ushered Akira into the kitchen, where a great many dishes floated above sinks, washing and drying themselves. His mouth hung open as a dish and a spoon flew right in front of his nose, followed by a fork.

 

“Ah, the dish running off with the spoon again…” Tom mumbled, shaking his head. “Akira and Hagrid sat down at a square table lodged in the corner of the room. A flying kettle was pouring steaming hot tea into a pair of cups before drifting away.

 

“Take your time,” Tom said, placing a menu down in front of him. There were only a few items on the menu, most of which Akira had cooked himself, but never really tasted. He shrugged and picked the first thing that sounded good.

 

“Fisherman’s pie, huh? Coming right up. And you’ll have the Cottage Pie, as usual, right?” Tom hustled off somewhere in the kitchen, leaving Hagrid and Akira lone again. Akira sipped at his tea, glad for the liquid. His throat had gotten a bit dry during the trip.

 

“So, what’d yeh think? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremlin’ ter meet yeh-- mind, he’s usually tremblin’.”  
  
“Is he always that nervous?”   
  
“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke, brilliant mind. He was fine while he was still studyin’ outta books, but he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… they say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag-- never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own shadow, scared of his own subject now.” Hagrid shook his head.

 

If running into a vampire could make someone dissolve into a puddle of  anxious fear, then ‘Black Forest’ was officially crossed off the list of potential travel locations. Speaking of travel...

 

“We’re going to the bank next, right?” Akira asked.  
  
“That’s right. Then it’s off ter buy yer supplies.”   
  
“You said you’d be mad to try and rob Gringotts. Why? Is it different from a normal bank?”   
  
“Gringotts is protected by spells and enchantments. They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high security vaults. And yeh gotta find yer way-- Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, you see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ ter get out, even if yeh managed to get yer hands on summat.”

 

“They have dragons?”  
  
“Well, so they say,” said Hagrid. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”   
  
“You’d like one?”   
  
“Wanted one ever since I was a kid,” he admitted.

 

Akira tried to imagine the great sprawling labyrinth of vaults, guarded by dragons miles beneath his feet, and had somehow gotten to imaging Hagrid riding the back of one with the wind streaming through his hair when Tom came back with their lunch.  
  
They ate quickly, as they still had so much to do, but Akira savored the taste of the potato crust and different fish in the filling. It was the best meal he’d had in his life.

 

“It’ll be on the house today, Mr. Kurusu. As thanks, for everything you’ve done.” Akira thanked the bartender, feeling a little strange about getting a free meal.

 

Outside, everyone was still wound up by his presence, and it took roughly ten minutes to fight through the crowd waiting to see him again, and he had to shake Doris Crockford’s hand one last time, but Hagrid finally led Akira into small, walled courtyard. There was nothing but trash cans and weeds lining the space, and a brick wall in the very back.

 

“Watch closely, Akira, and step back a bit” Hagrid said, taking his umbrella out again. He started counting bricks above the trash can, muttering “three up… two across…” until he found the one he liked and tapped it three times. The brick he touched quivered. As it wriggled, a small hole appeared in the brick that grew and grew until it had expanded far enough to accommodate even Hagrid’s height. The bricks melded into an archway that led to a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight in a strange, nonsensical path.

 

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, I finally get to introduce some differences. Hagrid is a real strain on the spellcheck, by the way.
> 
> Edit: I didn't realize how many errors I left unchecked before posting, but I think I got most of them.


	4. Diagon Alley

Akira stepped through the archway, his mouth no doubt hanging open in awe. It was so unlike anything he’d ever seen, and that was counting the floating dishes in the Leaky Cauldron. The sun shone brightly on stacks on stacks of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. They were all colors, including copper and silver and pewter, in all sizes, piled on top of each other in haphazard towers that defied gravity.

 

“Yeah, yeh’ll be needing one o’ those,” said Hagrid, pulling Akira’s attention away from a self-stirring cauldron,. Self stirring! How did it work?

 

“Right. Sorry, it’s just so interesting. How does a cauldron stir itself?”

 

“Magic, o’ course,” Hagrid replied. “Some kind o’ charm probably.”

 

“Wow…” Akira wished he had more time to just soak in the sights of Diagon Alley. Everywhere he looked there was something new. They passed an apothecary where a an irate woman was complaining about the price of dragon livers, of all things. Then there was a place called Eeylops Owl Emporium, where a cacophony of hoots and screeches poured into the street. There were Snowy, Tawny, Screech and even Elf owls sitting on perches in the window, watching the people passing by. Next they passed a shop dedicated to broomsticks. A group of boys about his age had their noses pressed to the glass, admiring the Nimbus Two Thousand. Telescope shops, robe stores, books, it was so much to take in.

 

Finally, they approached a snowy white building that towered high above the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors wearing a scarlet and gold uniform was a short, wrinkly look man. He had a clever, scrutinizing look about his face, with a sharply pointed beard. His fingers and feet were very long in proportion to the rest of his body. As they approached, Hagrid informed him quietly that this was a goblin. The goblin bowed as Hagrid and Akira passed.

 

Inside was another set of doors, this time made of gleaming silver, with words engraved upon them in flowing script.

 

_ Enter, stranger, but take heed _

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed _

_ For those who take, but do not earn, _

_ Must pay most dearly in their turn. _

_ So if you seek beneath our floors _

_ A treasure that was never yours, _

_ Thief, you have been warned, beware _

_ Of finding more than treasure there. _

 

To Akira, that sounded almost like a challenge, rather than a warning. He wondered just how many people had thought the same as him, and had perished in the vaults below.

 

Another pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast, gorgeous marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales. Examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count branching off of the main hall, and yet more goblins were leading people in and out of them. Hagrid located a goblin who didn’t seem to be busy and led Akira to his counter.

 

“Good afternoon,” Hagrid said. “We’ve come to take some money outta Mr. Potter’s safe.”

 

“You have his key, Sir?”

 

“Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy biscuits over the goblin’s book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose in distaste.

 

“Excuse me Hagrid, but who’s Mr. Potter?” He vaguely recalled Aunt Petunia mentioning that name the night before.

 

“Didn’t I tell yeh? No, I must not have. That was yer dad’s name, James Potter. He and yer mum combined their vaults under his name, in anticipation o’ their wedding.” Akira nodded. So his last name would have been Potter, if his parents were still alive. Hagrid suddenly let out an ‘aha’ and held up a tiny gold key. “Got it.”

 

The goblin looked at the key closely.

 

“That seems to be in order.”   
  
“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” Hagrid added importantly, puffing his chest up. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vaulty seven hundred and thirteen”

 

The goblin read the letter very carefully. “Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid. “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”   
  
Griphook was another goblin. He looked very impatient while Hagrid crammed the moldy biscuits into his pockets. They followed towards one of the doors off the hall.

 

“What’s the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?” Akira asked.

 

“Can’t tell yeh that,” Hagrid said mysteriously. “Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore’s trusted me. More’n my job's worth ter tell yeh that.”

 

Griphook held the door open for them. Where Akira was expecting more polished marble, there was instead a dark narrow corridor lit by torchlight. It sloped steeply downwards, and rail tracks lined the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They all managed to cram themselves in, though it was a tight fit, and the cart shot off into the cavern like a bullet.

 

At first, they traveled through a maze of twisting passages. Akira tried to remember the path they took, but they were going too fast, and to be honest, he never really had a good sense of direction. At one point, Akira swore he could see a plume of fire erupt from somewhere over their heads, but when he looked back there was nothing.

 

“Did you see that Hagrid?” He asked. Still peering into the darkness despite having left the spot where he’d seen the fire miles behind them.

 

“I’m not seein’ much of anythin’ right now…” Hagrid groaned. His eyes were screwed shut and he looked very green. “An’ don’ ask me questions just now, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Akira closed his mouth. As many questions as he had, he would rather ask them later when there was a significantly smaller chance of Hagrid losing his lunch on him.

 

When they they finally came to an abrupt halt beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. Griphook unlocked the door and green smoke billowed out in great clouds. When it finally cleared, Akira was shocked to see mountains of golden coins, columns of silver coins and even heats of the little bronze Knuts. It was more money than he’d seen in his life, and if he knew anything about the price of gold, which admittedly that knowledge was limited to ‘very expensive’, it was more than even Uncle Vernon had spent of Dudley the past eleven years. It was incredible. There was no way his relatives knew about this stockpile of precious metal, else they wouldn’t complain about how much he was costing them all the time.

 

Hagrid handed Akira a leather pouch. “The gold ones are Galleons, the silver are Sickles, and the bronze ones are Knuts. It’s twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, and seventeen Sickles top a Galleon.” He started piling heaps of money into the bag, much more than it should realistically have held, and pulled the drawstring tight. Akira slipped it into his backpack with his clothes and books.

 

“That should be enough fer a couple o’ terms. We’ll keep the rest safe fer yeh.” He turned to Griphook. “Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?”   
  
“One speed only,” snapped Griphook. The cart shuddered back to life and Hagrid squeezed his eyes shut again.

 

“Can wizard money be converted to muggle money?” He asked the goblin as the cart moved along. It might be nice to have an amount of money to use in emergencies or for things he couldn’t find in Diagon Alley.

 

“A Galleon can be exchanged for £4.93, one Sickle is worth £0.29, and a Knut is worth £0.01.” Griphook said. “If you want to exchange anything, you’ll have to speak with someone upstairs about that.”

 

“Thank you.” He started doing the math in his head as best as he could. He figured about twenty-one Galleons would get him to about a hundred or so pounds, which would be enough for anything he might need.

 

They descended even deeper underground. The air grew colder and colder, until they stopped in front of vault seven hundred and thirteen. There was no keyhole on this vault. Instead, Griphook told them to step back. He stroked the door gently with a long finger and it simply melted away. Seeing Akira’s curious expression, Griphook smiled wickedly.

 

“If anyone buy a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there.”

 

Akira peered into the darkness of the vault, expecting to see the bones of those foolish enough to touch the door. The space actually appeared very empty, except for a small, grubby looking package lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it in one of the many pockets deep inside his coat. Akira wanted to ask what it was, but he also didn't want to push Hagrid to answer something he already refused to tell him, so he remained quiet and settled back into the cart.

 

After clamoring out of the cart, Akira exchanged his Galleons for pounds, and they made their way back into the streets. The sunlight was blinding after being underground. He surveyed the street, wondering where they were going first. Hagrid answered his unasked question mere seconds after he thought it up, and nodded his towards a store called Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Might as well get yer uniform first,” he said. “Listen, Akira, would yeh mind if I were ter slip off ter the Leaky Cauldron fer a pick-me-up? I hate them Gringotts carts.”   
  
“It’s alright. I’ll see you later, Hagrid.”

 

Akira watched Hagrid disappear down the street and made his way to Madame Malkin’s shop alone, eager to see what his new uniform looked like. It was certainly going to be much better that the Smeltings uniform Dudley wore, or the Stonewall Academy uniform Aunt Petunia dyed not long ago.

 

Madame Malkin turned out to be a squat, smiling witch dressed in mauve clothing from head to toe.

 

“Hogwarts, dear?” She asked before Akira could even speak. “Got the lot here-- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.” He looked in the back of the shop and noticed another boy standing on a stool while another witch pinned up his long black robes. He was very pale, with a pointed face. Madame Malkin set Akira on a stool next to him and slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

 

“Hello,” the boy said. “Hogwarts, too?”   
  
“Yes,” Akira nodded.

 

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” the boy said. He had a bored, drawling voice that Akira found slightly annoying. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” It was like Dudley had followed him into Diagon Alley.

 

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy yammered on, as if unaware that Akira was trying to ignore him.

 

“No,” he replied.

 

“Play Quidditch at all?”   
  
Quidditch? “No.”

 

The boy smirked. “I do-- father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”   
  
“ _ No, _ ” Akira sighed.

 

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been-- imagine being in Hufflepuff! I think i’d leave, wouldn’t you?”   
  
“What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” The boy gave him a look that screamed ‘I can’t believe you even have to ask that’.

 

“Everything! It’s the house for the weak and stupid,” he scoffed.

 

Akira was about to say something in defense of Hufflepuff, despite still not knowing exactly what a Hufflepuff was, when the boy’s eyes widened.

 

“I say, look at that man!” He nodded towards the front window where Hagrid stood grinning, pointing out two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in. Akira smiled back.

 

“That’s Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts.”   
  
“Oh,” said the boy. “I’ve heard of him. Father says he’s a savage. Gets drunk some nights and sets fire to his bed trying to do magic.”   
  
“Hagrid has been nothing but nice to me,” Akira said coldly. “The real savage must be your father, if your manners are anything to go by.”

 

“How dare you!” The boy sneered at him.

 

“Now, now, boys,” Madame Malkin said around a pin in her mouth. “No fighting in the store, if you please.”

 

“I apologize, Madame Malkin,” Akira said politely, still glaring at the boy. They looked in separate directions and didn’t speak again. Madame Malkin finished up with the other boy’s robes and he hopped off of his stool, not look back at Akira once.

 

When his own robes were finished, folded neatly and packed away in his bag which by now was nearly full, he met Hagrid outside the shop. He picked at the ice cream Hagrid bought him quietly, finding it a bit too sweet for his tastes but not wanting to be rude.

 

“What’s up?” Hagrid asked suddenly. “Yeh’ve been quiet since yeh got yer robes.”

 

“I was just thinking,” he replied. When they finished their icecreams, they stopped to buy parchment and quills. Akira brightened up when he found an ink that changed colors depending on the temperature. It was a fairly warm day, and the ink currently looked like a viscous glass of orange juice. The woman running the shop made ice come out of her wand to show off the pale blue it would be in the colder months. Unable to help himself, he bought a small bottle of it for personal letters. Aside from the color changing ink, he also bought two large bottles of black ink, which was standard for his assignments, and another large bottle of red ink.

 

He found the parchment to be very stange. It wasn’t as wide as notebook paper, and was much longer. It was also inconveniently rolled up, and he was glad nobody saw him try and unravel one because he ended up dropping several sheets and couldn’t quite get them lined back up again. It was like trying to wrap paper towels back up after unrolling it too far. He made a mental note to try and buy a few notebooks if he could find any.

 

The next store they went to was Flourish and Blotts. The building seemed much larger on the inside, with the number of books the store accommodated. There were shelves lining every wall, and each was absolutely crammed full of books. There were so many books that they had hundreds that didn’t even fit on the shelves and had to be stacked up in great piles on the floor. They ranged in size from sidewalk tile to postage stamp, bound in leathers and silks. It was the most beautiful sight in all of Diagon Alley.

 

“I’ve died, haven’t I?” Akira whispered.

 

“What was that?”   
  
“I’m so happy…” He thought he might start crying then and there. It was like a dream come true. After picking up all the school books he needed, he begged Hagrid to let him look around for a while. He found a shelf full of empty books that he picked up to put his notes in. They didn’t have lines, but he would manage somehow. He also found a few books on something about Ancient Runes, and though they looked too difficult to understand at first, he found a beginner's guide that he slipped into his cart for later. There was also a book on obscure magical creatures that caught his attention. Perhaps the greatest find had been a rather large book titled ‘Hogwarts: A History’. He ended up reading the first few pages before deciding it was a necessity.   
  
He had to control the urge to look at curses to use on Dudley and his friends next time they chased him. As fun as it sounded to make Dudley spew slugs, he didn’t want to push his luck too far just yet. Otherwise, he’d picked out every book that interested him and then some, and Hagrid finally managed to pry him away from the bookstore.

 

“Just like yer mum,” Hagrid chuckled when they stepped onto the street. “I remember she used ter read anythin’ she could get her hands on.” Akira was pleased to hear that.

 

The next place was the cauldron store he’d been so enamored with when he first stepped through the archway a few hours ago. They purchased his cauldron, and a nice set of brass scales for measuring his potions ingredients. The ingredients themselves were in the Apothecary. They picked up his brass telescope on the way there. The inside of the Apothecary smelled vile. He couldn’t quite describe it as anything but. It was almost like rotten eggs and cabbages, but with an underlying slimy scent that seemed to cling to her nostrils like Aunt Marge’s perfume.

 

While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of the basic first year ingredients, Akira examined the stock of strange ingredients. There was a barrel of what looked like purple string beans and smelled like wet dog. Shelves were lined with jars of herbs and powders. Near the counter, a bin of Unicorn Horn was selling for twenty-one Galleons.

 

“Right, all that’s left now is yer wand, and o’ course, I still haven’t gotten yeh a birthday present yet.”

 

“This has already been the best birthday I’ve ever had,” Akira said, feeling himself turn a little red. “You don’t have to--”   
  
“I know I don’t have to,” Hagrid waved him off. “I want to. Go get yer wand, an’ I’ll come back fer yeh in a bit.”

 

“I-- thanks, Hagrid,” he said.

 

“Don’ mention it. Don’ expect yeh’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys.”

 

Hagrid dropped him off outside of Ollivanders and walked off in the other direction. Akira examined the narrow, shabby looking building. Peeling gold letters over the door read ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.’ A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the window. He was practically trembling with excitement as he pushed the door open and walked inside.

 

A tinkling bell sounded somewhere deeper inside the shop. It was a very small space, because most of the store was taken up by shelves filled with boxes. There was enough room for maybe three other people, and the spindly old stool sitting in the middle of the room. Something about the space made his neck tingle and his fingers feel prickly.

 

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice that made Akira jump.  Out of nowhere, an old man seemed to melt of of thin air. His wide, pale eyes shone like moons in the shade of the room.

 

“Hello,” Akira replied.

 

“Ah, yes,” said the man, scratching his feathery white hair. “Yes, yes, I thought I’d be seeing you soon, Akira Kurusu.” He felt a little uncomfortable. “You have your mother’s eyes. Ity seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

 

Mr. Ollivander stepped closer to Akira, peering into his grey eyes with his own, unblinking silvery ones. It was a bit creepy. Did he not need to blink?   
  
“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he favored it-- it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

 

“Are they sentient?” Akira blurted out, really wishing the man would break eye contact.

 

“In their own way, yes…” he reached out to touch the scar on Akira’s forehead with a long, white finger. “And that’s where… I’m sorry to say, I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly.

 

“You mean, Voldemort?” The old man didn’t even flinch at the name, he was too engrossed in his thoughts.

 

“Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wandm, very powerful and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…” He shook his head, then finally backed away from Akira, who left out a relieved sigh. The melancholy air the wandmaker gave off was replaced with a more exuberant excitement as he pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”   
  
Wand arm? “Well, I’m ambidextrous,” he admitted. It was a strange talent he’d picked up through necessity after he broke his arm fleeing from Aunt Marge’s dog once. He’d still been expected to ‘help’ Dudley do his homework, which is when he managed to force his left hand to write for him.

 

“A rare talent indeed,” Ollivander said. “Which arm do you favor over the other? Hold it up for me.” Akira held up his right arm. “That’s it.” He began to measure about every part of Akira he could reach, from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, round his head and even the distance between each finger. As he measured, he informed Akira that his wands were unique in that no two wands were the same. He only ever used unicorn hair, dragon heartstring or phoenix tail feathers.

 

“Why only those three?” Akira sked. Ollivander was now browsing his own shelves while the tape measure continued to measure without him.

 

“After much experimentation and research, I narrowed down the best materials for the strongest wands. These supreme cores far outclass every other core, and I only make the best wands.” he pulled a box from the shelf. “Here, try this one. Poplar and dragon heartstring. Twelve and a half inches, solid. Just take it and give it a wave.”

 

Akira took the wand and waved it, feeling a bit foolish when nothing happened. Ollivander snatched the wand away and handed him another.

 

“Chestnut and unicorn hair. Ten and three quarter inches. Brittle. Try--” But as soon as Akira raised the wand, he snatched it back.

 

“No, no- here, elm and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, fairly bendy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

 

This went on for the better part of an hour, him trying wands that only went in the growing pile on the spindly stool as Ollivander grew increasingly giddy.

 

“Tricky customer, eh? No worries, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere-- I wonder, now-- yes, why not-- interesting combination--” he disappeared into the back of the shop and returned with another wand. Somehow, Akira had a feeling this one would be different. He felt a strange pulling sensation in his right arm.

 

Akira took the wand from Ollivander and immediately felt a strange sensation in his fingers, like he’d just gripped a warm cup of tea. He raised it above his head and brought it down in a swishing motion. A stream of glittery black and red smoke billowed out of the end of it, twirling through the dusty air playfully before it lost its shape and fluttered the the floor, leaving behind a small pile of shimmering powder.

 

“Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good.” Ollivander cried. “Very curious, however.” He took the wand and placed it back in its box.

 

“This wand almost didn’t happen, you see. Cypress and phoenix feather, twelve and three quarters, unyielding.”   
  
“What do you mean, sir? That is almost didn’t happen?”   
  
Mr. Ollivander fixed Akira with his pale stare, and said very seriously: “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Kurusu. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather-- just one other. I found this feather in particular was drawn to a branch of holly. Holly and phoenix feather don’t often get along, and as I was about to craft the wand, a branch of cypress rolled from the shelf onto my workbench. It’s not often that a wand demands to be made, and even more curious-- the brother of this wand is the one that gave you that scar.”   
  
Akira swallowed thickly.

 

“Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I believe you are destined to do great things with this wand, Mr. Kurusu. After all, He-Who_must-Not-Be-Named did great things-- terrible, but great.”   
  
His final words sent shivers running up and down Akira’s spine. He paid the seven Galleons for his wand and Mr. Ollivander bowed him from his shop. The sun hitting his skin outside made him realize just how cold he was. Hagrid was waiting for him on a bench across from Ollivanders. His nose nose was red, and he was sitting as far as possible away from a square shaped object covered with a black cloth.

 

“Happy--” he sneezed. “Birthday, Akira.” He pulled out his spotted handkerchief and blew his nose. Akira eyes the thing suspiciously and lifted the cloth back, gasping with delight to find it was a cage containing a cat. It was mostly black, except for the fur around its paws and the end of its tail, which were covered in bright white fur. It fixed its striking blue eyes on him in a piercing gaze, letting out a meow that sounded almost like a laugh.

 

“That there is a half-kneazle. Smart creatures, loyal too, but they make my nose itch.” As if to prove his point, he sneezed again. The cat swished its tail and licked its paw.

 

“It’s perfect, Hagrid, thank you!” He grinned widely. “What’s its name?”

  
“Well that’s up the you. Name him whatever yeh like.” The cat was looking at him expectantly. There was a strange gleam in his eye that made Akira feel like the name should be perfect or there might be consequences, but it was perfectly fine with him, because he had a cat! He’d always wanted one of his own, and here he was, all his.

 

Akira unlatched the cage and reached into pet his cat. He purred, rubbing his head into his hand. “I’ll find a good name for you, I promise,” he said.

 

By the time they went back to the Leaky Cauldron, the sun was beginning to dip just out of sight behind the buildings of London. They bought tickets for another train ride and the entire trip while Hagrid was working on his knitting, Akira was reading through one of his smaller books. The most interesting book that didn’t stand out too much was Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. The cover was a bright shade of scarlet with golden writing.

 

He devoured the first half of the book up to the entry on Knarls, which were small hedgehog-like creatures that tore up gardens if you offered them food. He wondered if any lived close to Privet Drive. If he offered it enough food, would it terrorize Aunt Petunia's prized garden the entire school year?

 

The train ground to a halt at the station. Hagrid steered him towards a restaurant and bought them dinner, which was eaten mostly in silence, though Akira did ask as many last minute questions as he could. They parted ways at the next station and Hagrid sent him off. Before the train took off, though, Hagrid handed him an envelope.

 

“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts,” he said. “First o’ September-- Kings Cross-- it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, I’ll come an’ bring yeh myself.” Akira wanted to ask how he would know if he was having trouble, but the doors slid shut and Hagrid was already leaving. Akira dragged his things to a seat and tried to find Hagrid through the window, but he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wands Akira tried that Ollivander snatched away belong to three of his friends who hadn’t gotten their wands yet.
> 
> I hope you all saw Morgana coming xD


	5. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late, I was stuck for the longest time on the train scene, but I finally worked it out.

Akira’s last month living with the Dursleys was probably the best month he’d ever spent there. The entire time, the Dursleys did their best to ignore him. Dudley was afraid of him, especially when he let it slip that he knew enough magic to add more than just a tail to his features. It was a lie, of course, but Dudley didn’t know that. He actually shrieked and ran to his room, slamming the door shut. Akira could hear him crying, but he didn’t feel bad. Dudley deserved a little discomfort for all the nonsense Akira had put up with his whole life. He certainly never cared when Akira still used to cry in his cupboard years ago.

 

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia couldn’t seem to decide if they were more angry with him or scared of him. Aunt Petunia also didn’t much like his new cat, who, Akira found, was a bit of an escape artist. At first he’d left him alone in his room when he wasn’t upstairs, and the cat always found its way to him. By the end of the month, he’d grown accustomed to the feeling of a cat resting on his shoulder. Luckily Morgana-- that’s what he decided to name him-- was very light. According to his book on magical creatures, half-kneazles lived a long time compared to normal cats, and grew a bit slower.

 

When Morgana wasn’t around Akira, he was causing trouble for Aunt Petunia. She was constantly pulling black fur off of her clean clothes, the floor, her pillows. She about had a heart attack when she found Morgana lounging on the counter one morning, playing with the remains of a dead mouse. She finally spoke to him then, but it was mostly just her yelling at him to get that ‘filthy animal out of my clean kitchen’. He picked up Morgana, but left the corpse of the mouse tucked away behind the refrigerator. When it started to decompose, he hoped Aunt Petunia would have a fun time looking for the source.

 

Insult him if she must, but Morgana was off limits. Akira made sure to swipe some of the fancy fish from the freezer for Morgana to enjoy later, to make up for his Aunt’s behavior. He wasn’t spoiling Morgana, he told himself, but in the back of his mind he knew this cat already had him wrapped firmly around his little paw.

 

Akira himself spent most of his time in his room, reading all the books he bought late into the night until he woke up the next morning with a book pressed to his cheek. His favorite was a tie between his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, which was fully illustrated and had all sorts of interesting facts about plants, and Hogwarts: A History. He was alway very comfortable in the garden. Even Aunt Petunia had to admit, at least when no one was looking, that her garden was only the best on Privet Drive because of his handiwork. As for Hogwarts: A History, the information  about the school was invaluable. There were a lot of things he hadn’t known about before, like the different houses. He’d meant to ask Hagrid about Hufflepuff and Slytherin, but he’d forgotten. There was also Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, bringing the total to four.

 

Slytherin was for the house of the cunning and ambitious. The boy who wanted to be in Slytherin didn’t really come off as either to him in the store. He was more of the entitled bratty type like Dudley, but there wasn't a house dedicated to that, as far as he could tell.

 

Hufflepuff, the house he was insulting, was for the hardworking and loyal. Their animal was a badger. The animal itself was the kind of animal that didn’t give up when cornered. Maybe that extended to the students, as well. He would have loved to see a nearby Hufflepuff wipe the smug, too-good-for-you look off his face.

 

Ravenclaw boiled down to the smart house. Clever individuals with a thirst for knowledge were often sorted into that house. Strangely, their animal was an eagle, and not a raven.

 

The final house was Gryffindor. The brave and daring were sorted into that house. Their animal was the lion, the only house to have a feline mascot, so they couldn't be too bad.

 

He wondered what houses his parents had been in. Hagrid said his mother liked to read as much as he did, so he imagined her as a Ravenclaw. He didn’t know much about his father though. Hagrid had mentioned he was Head Boy, and his mother Head Girl, so he must have been smart too.

 

It left him wondering what house he would be in himself. He would be happy with any house, even if he had to share with the arrogant brat in the robe store. Ravenclaw sounded like the best option though, because of how much he loved to learn new things.

 

There was next to nothing in Hogwarts: A History about how students were sorted into their house. He combed through the book, learning all sorts of useful trivia, but the sorting ceremony was apparently a surprise. All he knew was that he would be sorted in the great hall during the welcoming feast.

 

The month passed quickly. He couldn't wait to get on the train, where he could start practicing magic. Hagrid had remembered to warn him that students weren't allowed to do magic at home, which made reading his spell books almost torturous. He did practice the wand motions with a stick from the back yard though.

 

A few days before the first of September, Akira finally initiated a conversation with Uncle Vernon. He probably shouldn’t have pushed it off as long as he did, but he really had enjoyed being left to his own devices. He walked into the living room with Morgana on his shoulder. When he cleared his throat to get their attention, Dudley screamed and scrambled out of the room. Music to Akira’s ears, really.

 

“Excuse me, Uncle Vernon?”   
  
Uncle Vernon didn’t look at him, but grunted to show he was at least listening.

 

“I need to go to King’s Cross on the first to catch a train to Hogwarts. Will you give me a lift?”   
  
Uncle Vernon snorted.   
  
“I’m not taking you anywhere. Find some other way to get to your freak school.” Akira frowned. He really didn’t want to miss the train. Hogwarts: A History said the train was partially meant as a place for new students to mingle and make friends. It was one of the big things he was looking forward to, making a friend this year that Dudley couldn’t scare away.

 

An idea suddenly came to him upon remembering Hagrid’s words a month earlier.

 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to take me,” Akira said with a hint of a smirk. “Hagrid said he would pick me up if you didn’t. You remember him, right? The one who gave me my letter. I can’t imagine he’d fit through the front door, though. He might have to make it bigger to come in.”   
  
Uncle Vernon whipped around, the speed impressive for someone as sluggish as his uncle, and he fixed an angry glare on Akira. “I will not have that freak come near us again! I’ll take you to the station, but that’s all you’re ever getting out of me!”

 

“Thank you, Uncle Vernon.”

 

His Uncle turned back to face the tv, his face planted firmly in his hands.

 

The next morning, Akira woke up earlier than he wanted to, but was too excited to go back to sleep. He dressed quickly and spent about a half hour checking and rechecking his trunk to make sure he had everything. When he went shopping in Diagon alley, they had forgotten to purchase one, but luckily there was an old one collecting dust up in the attic. He managed to sneak it down the ladder when everyone was asleep one night after dumping out a bunch of ancient Smeltings uniforms and old report cards. Apparently Uncle Vernon was a troublemaker, which explained a lot of things about Dudley.

 

Morgana was already curled up in his book bag with whatever textbook he’d fallen asleep reading the previous night, his bright eyes glowing in the darkness of the interior. When it was time to leave, he dragged his trunk to the car and managed to secure it in the back on his own. Aunt Petunia needed about ten minutes to coax Dudley into the back seat-- he was going to the hospital in London, apparently, to have his tail removed. A shame, Akira had thought, as it suited him so well.

 

During the drive, Akira took out his ticket and looked at it again. It said nine and three quarters, which was apparently located between platforms nine and ten. Hagrid and Hogwarts: A History both failed to mention the method of reaching the platform, so he would have to keep a close eye on the station for someone with an owl or funny clothes.

 

They reached the station at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped his trunk onto a cart and gave him one final nasty look before speeding off. Akira sighed, and pushed his cart to the space between platforms nine and ten. For the next fifteen minutes he asked different people if they knew where the train to Hogwarts was, but they either gave him a strange look or got mad at him for wasting their time with made up stories.

 

He was getting a bit desperate. The large clock over the arrivals and departures board said he had roughly fifteen minutes until the train took off at eleven. He knew Hagrid said he would come find him if he didn’t make it to the train, but he really wanted to get on and meet people. He was about to give up and wait for him, when someone ran into him from behind. Akira fell forward onto his cart, which in turned rolled forward, causing Akira to land painfully on his knees. Morgana hissed angrily at him through his bag at being jostled around so violently.

 

Akira was too busy looking wide eyed at the wall between platforms, where his cart was stuck inside the wall, to notice how much his knees were hurting.

 

“I’m so sorry,” someone huffed breathlessly, breaking Akira’s attention away from his cart. He looked up to see a boy with short dark hair. His face was red with embarrassment as he held out his hand to help him up. Akira grabbed his hand and hauled himself back to his feet, swaying unsteadily at first as his knees protested. He noticed behind him was another cart with a trunk like his own on the back. There was also an empty glass case on top.

 

“My name is Neville Longbottom,” he said. “Are you okay?”

 

“My knees are a little sore,” Akira said, grinning. “But I’ve had worse. You’ve just solved my problem, Neville.” Neville looked confused.

 

“I have?” Akira pointed to his cart, still stuck inside the wall. A look of understanding crossed his face. “So you’re a first year too, then?”

 

“Yeah. My name’s Akira, by the way. When I got my ticket, Hagrid forgot to tell me how I reached the train.”

 

“Neville? Neville, where did you get to?” Neville stiffened a bit when an old woman wearing the strangest clothes Akira had seen yet poked her head out of the wall. Was that a stuffed vulture on her head?   
  
“R-right here, Gran!” He waved. Neville’s Grandmother stepped around Akira’s cart, eyeing it disdainfully. “I found someone looking for the train. This is Akira,” he babbled. His grandmother looked over Akira with a scrutinizing look, though wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting to find.

 

“And I guess that’s your cart sitting inside the barrier?”   
  
“I’m sorry for getting in the way,” Akira said. “I didn’t know how to reach the platform. Luckily I knocked my cart forward when Neville bumped into me.” She arched her brow and looked at Neville, as if she was expecting something like that.

 

“Alright. You’ll both miss the train if we stand around any longer. Come on,” she led them through the barrier. Akira stared in awe at a large scarlet steam engine. The platform itself was full of people, and it was loud with the scrape of trunks, the hooting of owls and meowing of cats on top of everyone saying their goodbyes.

 

“Wow…” There wasn’t much else he could say. It was somehow even better than his first look at Diagon Alley.

 

“Gran,” Neville said suddenly, sounding panicked. “I’ve lost my toad again.”   
  
“Oh, Neville,” she sighed. That explained what the empty glass case was for. He watched in fascination as his grandmother raised her wand and said:   
  
“Accio, Trevor.”   
  
Akira felt a tug on his bag and then a toad flew out of the front pouch, Morgana batting at the amphibian as it passed. When had it gotten in his bag? The front pouch had been zipped shut. He had a strange feeling that Trevor was more than just an ordinary toad.   
  
After that, the two of them separated. Akira told Neville he would find them a compartment if he wanted to sit with him later. Neville had smiled and said he would look for him after he said goodbye to his grandmother, and Akira pulled his cart to the back of the train with a giddy feeling fluttering in his chest. The smile on his face faltered when he began the struggle to pull his trunk onto the train. The entrance was higher and narrower than the car had been, and the corner kept catching on the doorway. He finally almost had it, but lost his grip at the last second, cursing under his breath when it landed on his foot.

 

“Want a hand?” A red-haired boy a few years older than him asked.

 

“If you could,” Akira said, rubbing his foot through his shoe.

 

“Oi, Fred, C’mere and help!” Another identical red-haired boy appeared and they helped him drag his trunk into a compartment.

 

“Thank you,”he said, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Even with their help, it was a workout.

 

“What’s that?” One of the twins-- Fred, presumably, from the shirt he wore, which had a large F printed on it--  said suddenly, pointing at the scar on Akira’s head.

 

“Blimey,” the other said. His shirt had a G. “Are you--”   
  
“He is,” the Fred said again. “Aren’t you?”

 

“...what?”   
  
“You’re Akira Kurusu,” they both said.

 

It suddenly made a lot more sense. “Oh, yes.” They stood there, gawking at him, and he felt a little uncomfortable. He’d completely forgotten about the Leaky Cauldron incident in his excitement. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to start shaking everyone’s hands now. To his relief, a voice drifted through the train’s open door.

 

“Fred? George? Where have you gone?”

 

The twins grinned at each other and hopped off the train. Confused, Akira sat down next to the window of his compartment and looked out to see where they had gone. There was a whole group of them with red hair. The twins, one other boy around his age, an older woman who he thought must have been their mother, and a girl who looked to also be about his age.

 

The mother had just taken out a handkerchief and was reaching for the youngest boy.

 

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose,” she said. He tried to jerk away from her, but she expertly outmaneuvered him and gripped his face firmly with one hand and began to rub the end of his nose with her handkerchief.

 

“Mum-- geroff!”   
  
“Ahh, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” Fred said.

 

“Shut up,” Ron grumbled, finally wriggling free of his mother’s grip.

 

“Where’s Percy?” Their mother asked. There were really more of them? It was hard to imagine a family as large as this one existed when even the Dursleys had only ever had one son.

 

“He’s coming now, look there.” An even older boy with the same red hair strode towards the group. He was already wearing his uniform. The black fabric billowed out like a cloud of dark smoke as he walked. He noticed there was a silver badge with a ‘P’ on it.

 

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves--”

 

“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” George sounded surprised. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”   
  
“Hang on,” Fred tapped his chip thoughtfully. “I think I remember him saying something about it. Once--”   
  
“Or twice--”

 

“A minute--”

 

“All summer--”

 

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Percy said with a roll of his eyes.

 

Akira stifled a laugh.

 

“All right, the train is taking off soon. You’d best find a seat. Have a good term, and send me an Owl when you get there, all of you.”   
  
She kissed Percy on the cheek before he left, and turned to Fred and George with a stern look on her face.

 

“And you two-- this year, behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve blown up a toilet, or--”   
  
“We’ve never blown up a toilet!” Fred protested.

 

“It’s a great idea though, thanks, mum.”   
  
“Haha. I’m serious, boys. Make sure you look after Ron, and… try not to get in trouble during the first week, if you can at least restrain yourselves that long.”   
  
“Don’t worry mum,” Fred grinned, “ickle Ronniekins is safe with us!”

 

“We’ll make a troublemaker out of you yet,” George reached around and pinched Ron’s cheek. Ron slapped his hand away, his cheeks turning pink like his nose.

 

Their mother was about to protest, when George quickly interrupted her. “Oh yeah, hey mum, guess who we just met on the train.” Akira sunk down into his seat, hoping that nobody would look towards his compartment and find him eavesdropping. To be safe, he reached into his back and grabbed his potions book, leaning against the glass while pretending to read as he listened in. Morgana hopped onto the seat opposite him and pressed his paws into the glass as if he were listening too.

 

“Who?” She sighed.

 

“Akira Kurusu, that’s who! Saw his scar and everything!”

 

“It really does look like a lightning bolt.”

 

A girl’s voice piped in, sounding very excited. Akira had almost forgotten she was there in her silence. “Oh, mum, can I go on the train and look at him?”

 

“The poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in the zoo, Ginny. He’s probably had enough of it from everyone else by now.” He had most certainly had enough of being mobbed by strange people a month ago. Whoever this woman was, he liked her. She seemed to understand.

 

“Do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”   
  
“I forbid you to ask him, Fred,” she said sternly. “As if he needs to remember such a thing, on the first day of school, no less.”   
  
“All right, we get it, keep your socks on.”

 

The door of the compartment slid open just as the train whistled and the redheads scurried onto the train. Neville sat down next to him and a girl with bushy brown hair took the seat next to Morgana, who immediately sensed she wanted to give him some attention and abandoned the window in favor of sprawling across her lap. The girl smiled widely and started petting him.

 

“This is Akira,” Neville introduced.

 

“I’m Hermione Granger,” the girl said, extending her free hand across the compartment for him to shake. She had a very bossy sounding voice, but her smile was nice, and Morgana really liked her attention.

 

“Hello. That’s Morgana, by the way. He really likes having his ears scratched.” He was surprised by the firmness and enthusiasm of her handshake.

 

The train picked up speed and the view of the station was replaced by London’s buildings. Strangely, they passed over sections of the city that didn’t have train tracks, but the streets were somehow always empty. It was very odd for a busy city like London.

 

“It’s probably some sort of Muggle repelling charm,” Hermione explained. “I’ve read all about them. They’re very high level charms, so we won’t be learning them this year.”   
  
“Is that in the Charms text? That’s one of the ones I haven’t really read through yet,” Akira confessed.

 

“Oh no, I read about it in the 7th year’s Charms text. I was curious to see the differences between our text and the more advanced charms.”   
  
“You already bought your Charms text for seventh year?” Neville asked, looking quite astounded. Hermione only shook her head sadly.

 

“I didn’t have enough space for all of them. Professor McGonagall-- she’s the Transfiguration Teacher, by the way, the one who took me to Diagon Alley-- said I should hold off on anything above standard fifth year texts in case I don’t pass my O.W.Ls. I can’t imagine failing a test, though. Speaking of books,” she said, catching sight of the potion book he was still holding. “Which one is that?”  
  
Akira closed the book and read off the title. “I think Potions might be my worst class. It’s a lot like cooking, and I’m not very good at it,” he admitted, the scent of burned bacon permanently etched in his memory. “It’s very interesting, though. I like all of the theory behind it.”  
  
“I’ve heard terrible things about Professor Snape,” Neville said. “When I was in Diagon Alley, I overheard some older students complaining about how unfair he is.”  
  
“But he’s a Professor,” Hermione argued. “They’re supposed to be fair.”  
  
“Well, I heard he doesn’t like anyone not in Slytherin. He’s their head of house. Apparently he really hates Gryffindors.”

 

“He’s probably just strict. I had a teacher like that, but she was always fair.”   
  
“You’re probably just lucky,” Akira said. She looked like the type of girl who would be the teacher’s pet, and they were always treated better by teachers. “All of my teachers have been horrible.” She gave him a very bewildered look.

 

“Um,” Neville cut in. “Do you know what houses you’ll be in?”

 

“Oh, I read all about the four houses in Hogwarts: A History, and I asked around a bit on the platform. I really hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad…”

 

“I’ll probably be in Hufflepuff,” Neville sounded very… deflated, after Hermione’s little rant. “I’m not very brave, or smart or anything.”   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff,” Akira frowned. Why was everyone so down on Hufflepuff? “Hogwarts: A History says Hufflepuffs are hard workers and very loyal. I wouldn’t be upset if I went to that house.” Neville shrugged.

 

“My parents are Gryffindors. I think my Gran would be disappointed if I didn’t end up in their house.”

 

“What about your parents? What did they say?” Hermione asked. Neville looked suddenly very uncomfortable.

 

“They aren’t… around,” he said finally. Her eyes widened a bit.

 

“Oh Neville, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”   
  
“You didn’t know.”   
  
After that, they steered the conversation away from houses, and Akira suggested they try some magic. He’d been dying to try some of the simple spells he’d read about.   
  
“I’ve already practised some simple spells,” Hermione said, “and they’ve all worked for me. Let me show you--” She waved her wand in Akira’s direction and said with a confidant voice, “Reparo!” Akira jumped in his seat when his glasses shook on his nose and the tape holding them together disappeared. Rather than fall off of his face, they sat on his nose, no longer broken.

 

“Thank you,” Akira said as he examined the glasses-- no seam where the broken halves were reconnected, no cracks, they were like new. “This is great Hermione. What else have you tried?” Hermione beamed with satisfaction at her work and his reaction.

 

“The easiest was the levitation charm and the color changing charm.”   
  
“We can start there, then.” Akira pulled his wand out of his trunk and Neville did the same, though he didn't look as eager to try the spells as Akira himself felt. For the next half hour, the three of them practised levitating small things from their bags. Morgana would bat at anything close enough, sending them spinning like it was in zero gravity. Hermione was the best at the charm, making books zoom around above their heads while Akira could lift things for about a minute at a time. Neville’s control was very shaky and it took him several tries to lift a scrap of parchment, but he looked very pleased with himself when Hermione corrected his wand movements and he managed to lift Akira’s potions book above their heads.

 

His expression quickly turned to horror when he accidentally dropped the book over Akira’s head, knocking his newly repaired glasses to the floor and leaving a red mark on his forehead. He launched into a nervous apology. Akira rubbed at the spot where the book had hit his head, but it didn’t really hurt that much, and his glasses were still in one piece. Neville refused to keep going after that, and went to put his wand away, and Akira decided they would need to work on Neville’s self confidence this year. That was something he was sure friends were supposed to do, and he was fairly certain they were on track to becoming friends.

 

There was a great clattering of noise outside their compartment. A moment later, a smiling old witch slid the door open and asked if they wanted anything from the trolley.

 

Akira, who hadn’t had breakfast that morning, realized how hungry he was when his stomach growled. He stood and went to see what was available. Neville joined him, while Hermione said her parents had packed a lunch for her. The trolley was packed with all sorts of candies and treats he’d never seen before. For a moment he was worried that all she sold was candy, when he found a couple of sandwiches under a box of something called a Pumpkin Pasty. He bought two sandwiches and the Pumpkin Pasty, and after looking at all of the stranger things, a few chocolate frogs and one package of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. She didn’t sell anything to drink, strangely. What if someone got dehydrated?

 

Neville bought a couple of candies to compliment his own lunch and they returned to their compartment. Despite looking rather squashed, the egg salad sandwich was pretty good. He didn’t really like the looks of the fish sandwich though, and ended up scraping the mayonnaise off before slipping the fish to Morgana, who ate it slowly, mulling over the flavor with a wrinkled nose. He absently tore open the box of jelly beans and ate one without paying attention. A moment later, he was coughing and tearing up.

 

“Are you okay?!” Hermione exclaimed in panic.

 

“D-d-” his stomach flipped so hard he thought it may have torn itself away from the rest of his digestive system. ‘Dish soap…”   
  
“W-what? Dish soap?”   
  
“It tasted like dish soap!” And he unfortunately was very familiar with the taste of dish soap.   
  
“That’s really bad luck,” Neville said. “Here, this should help.” He handed Akira a flask of liquid. He didn’t really care what was in it, and gulped down at least half of it before the taste of soap was gone. He thanked Neville profusely and glared at the box of beans, sitting ever so innocently on the seat between him and Neville.

 

“What kind of vile person makes candy that tastes like soap?”   
  
“It’s part of the charm,” Neville explained. “There are some good flavors in there too.” He reached into the box and pulled out one. “I think this one is marshmallow.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll let you try it,” Akira grumbled. “Never should have trusted the trolley woman...” Neville shrugged and popped the bean into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

 

“Can I try one?” Hermione asked, setting aside the remains of her sandwich. Akira handed the box over.

 

“Be my guest, Hermione.”

 

She reached into the box and pulled out a green one, examining it very closely, then bit half of it off. A second later her face screwed up with disgust. “Ugh, it tastes like grass…”   
  
“You don’t like it? I always thought the grass one tasted alright.” Neville received bewildered looks from everyone, including Morgana, as if the bizarreness of his admission transcended the language barrier between human and cat-kneazle hybrid.

 

“We’re going to pretend we didn’t hear that, buddy,” Akira patted his shoulder awkwardly. While Hermione and Neville took turns testing the beans, and ignoring Neville’s previous comment about grass flavored jelly beans, Akira decided to trust the chocolate frog and ripped the package open carefully. The chocolate frog made a break for it and hopped out of the package, right into Akira’s palm.

 

“It’s not alive, is it? It won’t hurt if I bit into it, right?” Neville assured him it was just a charm, and Akira tentatively took a bite. Much to his surprise, it was more bitter than sweet. He looked at the package and noticed that it said dark chocolate. Interesting. So this was the fabled dark chocolate that Dudley despised so much. After he finished off the surprisingly good sweet, he looked at the card that had been sitting just under it.

 

A picture of a stern looking woman with long red hair gazed out of the picture on the card. She was gripping a staff with a pair of snakes entwined around the dark wood. She brought her finger to her lips in a shushing motion and winked before disappearing.

 

**MORGANA**

 

_ Morgana, also known as Morgan Le Fay, affected many events during the time of King Arthur. She was queen of the island of Avalon, and possessed great skill as a healer, but was an enemy of Merlin and considered by many a dark sorceress.” _

 

“Look Morgana,” he held the card picture-side up when she appeared again. “It’s you.” Morgana thumped his tail against the seat. Akira wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

 

“If you want to start collecting, you can have mine,” Neville said. “I have Dumbledore. I don't collect the cards myself.”

 

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

 

_ (currently headmaster of Hogwarts) _

 

_ Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling. _

 

“Thanks Neville. I didn't know wizards played bowling. Isn't that just a muggle thing?” Neville shrugged.

 

“Do you want a frog, Hermione?”

 

“No thank--” Hermione started to say when the compartment door slid open again, though this time it wasn't the trolley woman, it was the boy with the red hair he’d spied on before the train took off. He was being dragged in by his brothers, the ones who helped Akira pull his trunk onto the train. All three of them were already in their robes. Ron’s were plain like the set still in Akira’s trunk. Fred and George were wearing loose red and gold ties that seemed to indicate Gryffindor.

 

“Good to see you again, Akira,” they both said at the same time.

 

“Hello George, Fred.” Akira greeted them politely. He was very curious why they were all here. Ron himself looked very unhappy to be dragged around.

 

“Leave me alone, I was fine where I was!” Ron snapped, his face again looking very pink.

 

“Since we helped you earlier, you can repay the favor by sitting with our little brother.”

 

“Promised mum we’d keep an eye out for him, you see.”

 

“So we can’t let him sit all alone the entire trip.”

 

“Uh, sure, it’s fine,” Akira finally said. “We have space, right Morgana?” He looked at the cat, lounging over the empty seat. He blinked back at him and meowed loudly. For some reason he felt like Morgana was displeased, but the cat stretched and jumped into Akira’s lap, leaving the seat next to Hermione free.

 

“Excellent!” George grinned. “Go on Ronniekins, make some friends!” They shoved a protesting Ron into the compartment and slid the door shut before anyone could say anything. He sat down, arms crossed and glared at the door.

 

“So your name is Ron, then?” Hermione started, sticking her hand out like she had earlier. Ron eyed it with a dazed look before tentatively gripping it, looking very unprepared when she shook vigorously. “My name is Hermione Granger. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Er, yeah, I’m Ron Weasley.”   
  
“Neville Longbottom,” Neville spoke up. “Um, I think we might have met before but I’m not sure.” Ron shrugged.

 

“Maybe we saw each other in Diagon Alley or something. I’ve been there a lot.” Ron then looked at Akira and furrowed his brow.

 

“Wait, you look like… Are you Akira Kurusu?” Busted. Though Akira had been expecting to be recognized soon, considering his older brothers had mentioned meeting him earlier.

 

“Yes.”

 

Hermione's eyes were like dinner plates. “You’re Akira  _ Kurusu _ ? Oh, I should have put it together when we first met… Akira isn’t a very common name after all. I’ve read all about you in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century…”

 

Akira was baffled. People wrote about him in books? Just because he didn’t die as a baby? “Really?”

 

“There are a lot of books about you,” Ron said. “My sister knows everything about you.” Akira thought about the little girl on the platform who wanted to look at him.

 

“Did you really not know? If it were me, I would have read all about it.” Hermione said. “I can lend you The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts if you want to see.” He had to admit, he was curious, and agreed. Hermione promised to dig it out for him once they arrived at Hogwarts.

 

“Do you really have a scar?” Ron asked. “Fred and George said you did, but I thought they were just joking about meeting you.”

 

Akira pushed his hair aside so they could see.

 

“Whoa, it really does look like a lightning bolt…”

 

Seeing the scar on his forehead seemed to cheer Ron up considerably. After everyone had a good look at the scar, Ron was just as chatty as the rest of them. It wasn’t long before they lost track of time talking. Ron was currently going over the fine points of Quidditch, a sport Akira now knew was played on broomsticks, when a voice echoed through the train.

 

“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

 

It made his shiver with excitement when he looked out the window into the dark purple sky. He was hoping to see a glimpse of the castle, but all he could see were a few mountains and a vast, dark forest.

 

“I’m going to change into my robes now,” Hermione said. “You should probably do the same. I can’t imagine how embarrassing it would be show up to school without your uniform on.” She stepped out of the compartment with her robe and went to change, leaving the boys to themselves.

 

“I’ve had nightmares where I went to school in my knickers once,” Neville confessed as he removed his jacket.

  
  
“Hasn’t everyone?” Ron snorted. “One time Fred and George walked around all day in their pajamas. The Professors tried to make them change into their robes but they spelled them on with a twenty four hour sticking charm. Ginny and I thought it was funny but Mum was nearly tearing her hair out.”

  
  
“Your brothers must be fearless,” Akira said. He slipped the black robe over his head and straightened it out. Morgana, who had spent the last hour or so asleep on the seat next to him immediately leapt onto his shoulder.

 

“Sorry Morgana, I don’t think you can come with me,” Akira apologized. Morgana made a low growl in the back of his throat and climbed down his arm, back onto the seat.

 

“I’ll see you in the castle, I promise.” It hit him that Morgana hadn’t spent much time away from him ever since they met. He almost changed his mind, but the thought of getting into trouble on the first night held him back. Maybe he could sneak fish or something from dinner?

 

The train rolled to a stop. The corridor was filled with students. Hermione ducked back inside before she was swept away.

 

“Are you ready to go?” The boys nodded and with one last look at Morgana, Akira closed the compartment door a final time for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited for the next chapter, now that finally at Hogwarts~ We can finally meet some other Persona 5 characters, if only briefly, but they'll be there.


	6. The Sorting Hat

Akira shivered when they stepped off of the train and onto a tiny, dark platform. Nothing happened for a few minutes other than the train shutting its doors when the last student stepped onto the platform. Eventually, a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students ahead of him and he heard a familiar voice over the comotion.

 

“Firs’ years! Firs years follow me!”   
  
Hagrid’s great wide smile beamed at him over the sea of students. “All right there, Akira?” Akira smiled back and waved.

 

“Who is he?” Hermione asked quietly. “He’s so tall!”

  
“That’s Hagrid. He’s the gameskeeper. He’s the one who took me to Diagon Alley and found Morgana for me.”   
  
“I’ve heard of him from my brothers,” Ron said. “He has a house by the forest. He caught Fred and George sneaking in a few times.” Akira really wanted to get to know Fred and George better just to find out if half the things Ron said about them was true.

 

“Ye’ all get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder as he lead them away from the platform and down a steep, narrow path lined with dense forest. “Jus round that bend there. Mind yeh don’ trip, it gets a bit steeper here.”   
  


“Here we are.” There was a loud collective “ooooh” from everyone as the path suddenly opened up onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other shore was an enormous castle with glittering windows and many high towers. He was in love with it already.

 

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a small fleet of rowboats sitting by the water of the shore. Akira, Neville, Hermione and Ron managed to claim a boat for themselves. “Everyone in?” Hagrid had a boat of his own that was already moving forward to lead the rest of them. “Right then-- FORWARD!”   
  
The boats jolted to life at the same time, gliding across the lake. The water was smooth, like glass, reflecting the image of the castle as if it were a mirror. It was completely silent now as everyone gazed at the castle towering over them, drawing nearer and near every second. They lost sight of it as passed under the cliff it rested on.

 

“Heads down!” Hagrid yelled as the first boats reached the base of the cliff. They bent their heads as they passed through a curtain of ivy concealing a large opening to a dark tunnel. The only source of light was the lantern, casting shadows of Hagrid and his boat on the stone walls of the cavern. The tunnel seemed to lead them under the castle. Eventually, they reached some sort of underground harbor. Each boat bumped against the shore ande they climbed out onto slick rocks and pebbles. Neville slipped on the way out, but Akira and Ron managed to catch him before he fell back and knocked himself and Hermione into the boat again. Someone else wasn’t as lucky and Akira winced at the quiet shriek that followed a loud splash.

 

“Thanks,” Neville said quietly. They clambored out of the way of other students and when everyone was out of the boats, Hagrid led them up another path. The rocks eventually became stone steps and then those gave way to a smooth, damp and mercifully flat grass. They walked up another flight of stone steps right to the grand oak front door.

 

“Everyone here?” Hagrid looked over the entire group, doing a quick headcount. When he was satisfied and raised his fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

 

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Akira could tell she wasn’t someone he wanted to anger. Hermione whispered excitedly that she was the one who took her and a few other muggleborns to Diagon Alley.

 

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid said.

 

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door open wider while Hagrid stepped out of the way. He waved at Akira one last time before he left. Akira was in awe of the entrance hall. It was massive. Try as he might, he couldn't quite see the ceiling. He wagered the Dursley’s house would fit stacked three times over and twice across and still have enough space for everyone there. The stone walls were lit by torches like the ones at Gringotts, and a magnificent marble stone staircase facing them led upwards to the upper floors.

 

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, their small army of footsteps accompanied by a rhythmic squeak. Akira could hear the droning of hundreds of other students from beyond a large doorway to their right. Instead of going through the doorway, she led them to an antechamber off to the side. Most of the students gathered close together, looking both nervous and excited.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The sorting is a very important ceremony. Your house will become your family during your stay in Hogwarts.” Someone bumped into him. Akira looked and saw Neville was white as a sheet.

 

“You may have noticed the four hourglasses in the entrance hall. There is one for each of the four houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. While you are here at Hogwarts, you will earn house points for your triumphs, filling the hourglass. However, breaking rules will lose points, emptying the hourglass. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

 

“The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the whole school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered over several students. Akira nervously tried to fix his unruly hair when her looked at him.

 

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” Professor McGonagall said. “Please wait quietly.” She left the chamber and immediately everyone broke into frantic whispers.

 

“Does anyone know how they sort us?” Akira asked. Neville shook his head and Hermione shrugged.

 

“Some sort of test, I think,” Ron said. “Fred says it’s supposed to hurt a lot, but I’m maybe… ten percent sure he wasn’t lying?”

 

What kind of test could a bunch of first years possibly go through? None of them really knew any magic, except for what they might have practiced on the train.

 

“I’m going to do terrible,” Neville moaned.

 

“Don’t say that Neville, you can levitate things,” Akira said helpfully.

 

“That’s probably better than most of us,” Ron frowned. “The only magic I tried on the train failed. Then again, I did use a spell Fred told me…”

 

“And isn’t that a surprise,” an unpleasantly familiar voice laughed. Akira whipped around, already knowing it would be the boy from Madam Malkin’s shop. “My father’s told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford. I’m sure that magic dried up after the first two.”   
  
“You--!” Ron raised his fists and started to lunge forward.   
  
“Ron, don’t,” Hermioned hissed, gripping his shoulder. “You’ll get in trouble.”

 

The boy carried on, now looking at him instead. “You must be Akira Kurusu. I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” Akira looked at the boy blankly. “You’ll soon find some wizarding families are much better than others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” he stuck his hand out for Akira to shake.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he finally said, taking his hand and shaking with enthusiasm. “But there’s really no need to put yourself down like that, Draco, I’m sure your family is just as nice as the Weasleys.” Ron’s eyes widened and his anger melted into shock, and then he started laughing, which was echoed by some of the other students.

 

Malfoy jerked his hand away and looked at him murderously. “You better watch yourself, Kurusu, else you’ll--” Unfortunately, Akira would never know what would happen to him because at that moment, the people behind them started to scream.

 

Malfoy himself let out a strangled shriek and stumbled away when something about the size of a squirrel flew through him, leaving a faintly glowing white splotch on his front. Akira would have found it funny had it not been what he was certain was a ghost of a toad, which left him more confused than anything. What could possibly keep a toad from passing on after death? When he finally did turn around, he saw about twenty other human ghosts floating through the air.

 

They were pearly white and transparent, gliding across the room with ease. They were talking to each other, or, more they were arguing. What looked like a fat priest or monk was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say. We ought to give him a second chance--”   
  
“My dear Friar,” said another ghost with a ruffled collar and tights, “haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost-- I say,” he exclaimed, taking notice of the students. “What are you all doing here? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

 

Nobody answered. Akira swore he someone whimpering in the crowd.

 

“They must be new students, Nicholas! It is that time of year.” The Fat Friar smiled warmly at the group of new students. “Haven't been sorted yet?”

 

A few people shook their heads mutely.

 

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, then. My old house, you know.”

 

What a weird day. The door to the room opened again. Professor McGonagall had returned, much to the relief of some of the students.

 

“Move along now,” she said sharply. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Form two lines and follow me.” The ghosts floated away one by one as they lined up.

 

Akira got in line near the back behind a boy with blonde hair. Neville was behind him with Ron and Hermione next to them in the other line. She led them out of the chamber and up to a pair of double doors. When Akira got his first look at the Great Hall his jaw dropped. It was honestly the most amazing sight he’d seen ever since learning he was a wizard. The large room was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles floating over four great long tables. The rest of the students were seated at these tables, with the teachers sitting at another table up front.

 

Everyone was staring at them, but Akira found himself too enamored by the ceiling to care. It was a beautiful image of the night sky with bright shining stars and a sliver of moon. He’d read about the enchantment on the ceiling. It was supposed to look like the sky outside. He heard Hermione explaining this to Ron as they approached the front of the hall. He looked away from the ceiling when the students ahead of him started to slow.   
  
Professor McGonagall silently placed a grubby looking four-legged stool. On top of that, she set down an old, pointy wizard hat like the one in his trunk. To his amazement, the hat began moving. A rip near the brim opened wide, like a mouth, and began to sing about the qualities of the four houses. When it finished, the whole hall burst into applause. It bowed each of the tables, then became still again.

 

“Oh thank god, we only have to try on a hat,” Ron said quietly. “I should really stop listening to my brothers. Wrestle a bloody troll, he said…”

 

Professor McGonagall stepped forward once the hat was ready, holding a long scroll of parchment.

 

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” She cleared her throat. “Abbott, Hannah!”   
  
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of their line, put on the hat, which fell over her eyes, and sat down. They waited for baited breath for a moment when the hat suddenly shouted “HUFFLEPUFF!”

 

The table on the far right burst into applause as Hannah Abbott handed the hat back to the professor and went to sit down with her new housemates. Akira noticed the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

 

“Bones, Susan.”

 

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat shouted again.

 

There was more applause as Susan Bones scuttled after Hannah Abbott and sat down next to Hannah. The girls grinned widely at each other.

 

“Boot, Terry!”

 

“RAVENCLAW!” This time the table to his right clapped. Several Ravenclaws stood and shook his hand enthusiastically before he sat down.

 

The next girl, Mandy Brocklehurst went to Ravenclaw after about a minute of silence, but the one after her, Lavender Brown, was the first Gryffindor of the night. He could hear Fred and George cheering loudly.   
  
After her came Millicent Bulstrode, who went to Slytherin. Akira furrowed his brow when he heard a few students booing over the loud applause from Slytherin’s table on the far right. Was it just his imagination?

 

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”   
  
“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat shouted almost immediately after the boy sat down.

 

The next boy, Seamus Finnigan, was the source of the squeaking. His face turned a bit redder with each squeak his wet shoe made before he went to Gryffindor. Akira perked up when Professor McGonagall said; “Granger, Hermione!” He whispered a good luck as she passed. She almost ran to the stool in her excitement and jammed the hat on her head. The hat thought for a moment before declaring “GRYFFINDOR!”

 

“Kitagawa, Yusuke!” A thin boy with black hair that looked almost blue walked slowly up the the stool. The hat was on his head for maybe a minute before declaring “RAVENCLAW!”

 

“Kurusu, Akira!” And then it was his turn. As Akira stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like wildfire across the hall.

 

“Kurusu, did she say?”

 

“The Akira Kurusu?”

 

The hat slipped over his eyes and he sat on the stool. The last thing he saw before cloth was everyone’s faces trying to get a good look at him. It was ridiculous how famous he was for not dying. It made his nerves act up, and he took a deep breath.

 

“Hmm,” a small voice said in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult.”

 

‘Are you the Sorting Hat?’ He thought, bewildered. The voice chuckled.

 

“You have an inquisitive mind, I see. A thirst for knowledge.  Courageous and hardworking as well. But what’s this? Not only intelligent, but cunning… as a snake, perhaps? I wonder, where shall I put you?”

 

Akira bit his lip and gripped the edge of the stool. The hat continued to hum inside his head. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but he did know that it was starting to feel uncomfortable.

 

“You could be great in any house you choose.”   
  
‘Aren’t you supposed to choose?’

 

The hat laughed. “What, you have no opinion on your fate? I may just take your wishes into account. You are the most difficult student I’ve sorted in many years.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise at that. ‘Reflect upon yourself, Mr. Kurusu.’ Akira wondered if this sort of thing happened to everyone else who wasn’t sorted immediately.

 

He thought about the core values of each house and what they meant to him. Intelligence, bravery, loyalty and ambition... He certainly valued having intelligence, but more than that, he valued how to use it. He knew he was smarter than Dudley, but he was also smart enough to know that Dudley would beat him black and blue if he proved it.

 

Bravery was all well and good, but sometimes it was better to step back and think than to stand your ground. Every time he stood up to Dudley’s gang or to his Aunt and Uncle he was hurt in some way. Getting back at them when they didn't expect it almost always payed off.

 

Loyalty had to be earned; following someone blindly out of fear or worship was foolish. Hagrid said people followed Voldemort out of fear, and he couldn't stand letting fear rule over him like that.

 

Ambition drove everything he did. He thought about using magic to escape his cousin and his friends, his determination to snatch his letters from under his uncle’s nose.

 

The hat hummed in approval as it followed his thoughts. “Very well, then,” the Sorting Hat said. “I suppose it’ll have to be…”

 

“SLYTHERIN!”

 

When he took the hat off, he wasn’t met with the same applause as everyone else had been. Although the professors were clapping for him, the rest of the hall seemed confused, more than anything. The Slytherin table started clapping in a more subdued manor when he stood up and made his way toward them.

 

“Slytherin? But… how?”   
  
“I thought he would have been in Gryffindor!”

 

“Is he really in our house?”

 

As he approached the table, he noticed that a few of the students were giving him dirty looks and others still looked bewildered. He faltered, wondering if he was sorted into the wrong house like everyone seemed to be saying, but the hat wouldn’t have lied. It used his own thoughts and opinions to place him, so he had to be in the right place. He chose to sit down across from one of the ghosts near the end of the table. Everyone else was at least three seats away from him on either side for some reason, but he felt more welcome there than with the glares and disappointed looks he seemed to be getting from the other students. It was a little cold, though.

 

The ghost looked ancient, if his curled hair and stiff looking robes had anything to say about it. His front was stained with silver blood. Akira met his blank, staring gaze for a moment and felt a shiver travel down his spine. Still preferable company to the older students a few seats away, who were now whispering furiously about him.

 

“Is he mental?”   
  
“That’s the Bloody Baron!”

 

Akira sighed, and put his mind off of it. Neville’s name was next and he didn't want to miss it. He fell over on his way to the stool. Akira winced. When he was under the hat, it took a while to decide before shouting Gryffindor. Neville ran off to the table with the hat still on his, and had to jog back to hand it off. He managed to catch Neville’s eye before he sat down and gave him a thumbs up. To his relief, Neville smiled sheepishly at him and didn’t look overly disappointed that he wasn’t in Gryffindor as well.

 

“Mishima, Yuuki!”   
  
Yuuki Mishima looked as nervous as Neville, but managed to get into the stool without incident. It didn't take long for the hat to shout “GRYFFINDOR!”

 

“Malfoy, Draco!”

 

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called with more confidence than he should have had with that large white splotch of ghostly slime on his front, and was immediately sorted into Slytherin before he even sat down. He went to join two others boys who were sorted earlier, Crabbe and Goyle, looking very pleased with himself. Akira hoped they weren’t going to share a room.

 

There weren’t too many people left to be sorted after Malfoy. Lily Moon, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, a pair of twin girls named Padma and Parvati Patil...

 

“Sakamoto, Ryuji!”   
  
The boy who he’d stood behind with the bright blonde hair walked with a slight limp to the stool. The hat was on his head for all of three seconds before it shouted “HUFFLEPUFF!” He looked very relieved but Akira noticed the Hufflepuff table’s applause wasn’t as loud as it had been for their other new members.

 

“Suzui, Shiho!”

 

Shiho Suzui was a Gryffindor. There were only six students left. Sally-Anne Perks became a Hufflepuff.

 

“Takamaki, Ann!”

 

A blonde girl with her hair in pigtails stepped up next. She figeted on the chair for a few seconds until the hat yelled “Gryffindor!” She sat next to Shiho Suzui and they hugged each other happily.

 

After her came Dean Thomas, a Gryffindor, Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw, and finally it was Ron’s turn.

 

“Weasley, Ronald!” He appeared almost green by now. The hat was on his head for barely a second before proclaiming “GRYFFINDOR!” Akira had to admit he was a little disappointed that his friends were all in a different house. He looked at Ron from across the hall and stiffened when he looked… betrayed? Why was everyone so upset with him being in Slytherin?

 

The final student sorted was Blaise Zabini, who became a Slytherin. He surprised Akira by taking a seat near him.

 

“Akira Kurusu, huh?” He said, looking him over curiously. Akira nodded. “Blaise Zabini. I never thought you would be in Slytherin, of all places.”   
  
“Why does everyone seem to think that? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Blaise raised his brow with amusement.

 

“You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, you know.” Oh, that sort of explained it.

 

“But if he’s dead, does it really matter what house he came from?”   
  
“Not when it’s left a permanent stain on the house’s reputation,” Blaise said darkly.

 

Akira looked back to the head table when Albus Dumbledore stood up. He was beaming at the students, his arms open wide as if seeing them gathered together was the greatest thing he’d seen.

 

“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” Akira stared at the headmaster blankly. Did he actually hear him correctly?

 

“Crazy old bat,” Blaise muttered, scooping potatoes on his empty gold plate.

 

Wait.

 

Where had the potatoes come from? He blinked. The table, bare save for their empty plates and silverware a moment ago, was now laden with a variety of different dishes. Dishes that he’d burned or undercooked many times for the Dursleys, and many he'd never even seen before. Just in front of him was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and… peppermint humbugs? There were even more dishes to the side. He zeroed in on a plate of fish pie that looked as appetizing as the one he tried at the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid. There were also clear pitchers of water, milk, and something orange that smelled like pumpkins, some of which seemed to have already filled his goblet. The pumpkin juice tasted more like apples and less like pumpkins with some sort of spice, but he found himself enjoying it immensely.

 

His stomach was already growling, as lunch had only been a sandwich and a chocolate frog. There was surely more food in front of him now than he’d ever seen in his life. If the Dursleys could see him freely putting as much on his plate as he wanted, and not the pitiful amounts they grudgingly gave him, they might just throw a fit. He slipped some of the fish he picked out of his pie into a napkin and pocketed it for Morgana. Aunt Petunia would definitely hate that he was feeding Morgana something from the table.

 

“You’re going to smell like fish tonight, Kurusu,” Blaise sniffed. “What could you possibly plan to do with that?”   
  
“Feed it to my cat, of course. I’m sure he’s quite hungry, he hasn’t eaten since I bought him a sandwich on the train.” Blaise looked at him in much the same way he and Hermione had looked at Neville after the great ‘grass flavored jelly bean’ disaster of maybe five hours ago.

 

“You better wash your hands before bed. I won’t hesitate to hex you if you stink up the dorm room.”   
  
“You’ve already found time to practice hexes?”   
  
“No, but you would make a fine first test subject.” He couldn’t tell if Blaise was being serious or if it was a joke. Blaise didn’t really say anything to him after that so he leaned more towards serious and made a mental note to look up protection against hexes later on. When he finished what was on his plate, he was startled by all of the dishes on the plate disappearing and being replaced with all sorts of deserts. If Dudley were here he wouldn't even have been able to eat all of it.

 

There were blocks of ice cream of every flavor, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam donuts, trifle, jello, rice pudding and all kinds of fruits. He helped himself to a bowl of fruits. When he finished, he stifled a yawn. It was getting later and later and now he just wanted to find Morgana and go to bed. He let his eyes wander to the head table to keep himself occupied. Hagrid was there on the end, drinking deeply from a goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his purple turban, was talking to another professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

 

Suddenly, the hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban and straight into Akira’s eyes. A sharp, hot pain shot across his scar. He winced and rubbed his forehead. The pain faded away as quickly as it had come. Stranger than the sudden pain was the way the professor looked at him-- he got the distinct feeling that, despite never meeting him in his life, he’d done something to make him angry. When he looked back, the professor was no longer looking his way, Akira watched him for a while after that but he never looked back.

 

Finally, the desserts on the table disappeared like the other dishes before. Professor Dumbledore got to his feet and the hall fell silent.

 

“Ahem-- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term announcements to give you. First, our returning students may have noticed a new addition. With the sudden departure of Professor Trocar last year, Professor Quirrell has taken on the position as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Burbage will be the new Muggle Studies teacher in his place.” There was a round applause for a pale woman with blonde hair who stood when her name was announced.

 

“For our first years, it would be wise to note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to pupils unless otherwise stated by a professor. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed to the Gryffindor table for a moment. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, our beloved caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”

 

Akira noticed a very unpleasant looking man holding a fluffy brown cat nodding along to his words.

 

“Quidditch trials will be held second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

 

Akira nearly though he had been joking, but his expression was very serious. What could possibly be on the third floor that was so dangerous? Professor Dumbledore didn't elaborate.

 

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore cried. The other professors’ smiles looked suddenly very strained. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if there was an insect perched on the end, zand a long gold ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

 

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” Dumbledore said, “and off we go!” Akira didn’t really have anything in mind, so when the school began to sing, he merely watched, fighting the urge to cover his ears. The sound of hundreds of students singing different tunes, some very off key, was… well, absolutely horrible, to be honest. Everyone finished at different times, and finally, Fred and George were the only ones still singing along to a very slow funeral march, which Dumbledore himself conducted with his wand. Akira clapped along with everyone else, glad it was finally over.

 

“Ah music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here!”

 

‘And certainly a magic not everyone possesed,’ Akira thought.

 

“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

 

Akira followed the other first years to the end of the table where two older students were waiting for them They introduced themselves as Gemma Farley and Terry Strickman. They were the prefects responsible for showing them to the common room. When the hall was less crowded, they led them out of the Great Hall and to a door on the left side of the grand staircase. They walked down a staircase into the dungeons, and took at least three turns that Akira probably wouldn’t remember later. Eventually they stopped at a dead end, and Gemma Farley looked at a blank, unremarkable section of the wall.

 

“This is the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room,” Terry Strickland explained. Before we go inside, I want to make it very clear to you that we do not bring anyone into the common room unless they are of our house. Anyone found giving the password to outsiders will be given detention with our head of house, Professor Snape. You do  _ not _ want detention with Professor Snape. The password changes every fortnight, and is posted on the noticeboard near the entrance.”   
  
“Tonight’s password,” Gemma Farley spoke up, “Is Antimony.” Akira watched the stones fold away much like they had done on the wall to Diagon Alley, revealing a short tunnel that opened into the Common Room. The prefects hurried them inside the large circular chamber with at least six doors and arches on the sides. The middle of the room was full of couches and armchairs arranged around wooden tables. The tables and walls were lit by strange lamps that cast green light. A silver fireplace on the far side looked like a large serpent with its mouth opened as if ready to strike. On either side of the fireplace was a large arch with curved staircases leading downwards.

 

“You can explore the common room tomorrow after classes, and I certainly encourage you to do so,” Gemma explained. “For now, the girls will follow me to the left. The boys will follow Terry to the right.” The stairs led them down further into the dungeon, and they came out in a wide hallway. “To the left is the bathroom,” Terry said, pointing at a door as they passed.

 

“The dorms are along the right. There’s a separate path for each year. First years are behind this door here,” he pointed to another door near the bathroom. Around that bend up there you can find the Prefect’s bedrooms. Make note that a barrier will stop you if you to go any further than Prefect’s Alley. The girl’s dorms are on the other side, after all.”

  
He continued to explain a few rules about noise and curfew, then set them off to bed. The room was large. Six four poster beds hung with dark green velvet curtains lined each side of the room, bringing the total up to twelve beds to choose from, but Akira had his eyes set on the one in the very back. Three tall windows that extended from floor to ceiling looked into the lake. His trunk was already waiting at the foot of the bed, as if it knew where he wanted to sleep.

 

Akira sighed with relief when he spotted his cat lazing about on his pillows. He put the napkin full of fish on top of his trunk after pulling out his night clothes and Morgana ate while he changed. He was already drowsy, so as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. That night, he went back to the blue room.

  
Something was different about it. A green light shone from the hallway. It was pulsing slowly, from bright to dim. He couldn’t hear the creature, but a terrible thought occurred to him, and he wondered if it had escaped. Swallowing his fear, he stood up and inched closer to the hallway. The light was indeed coming from the room at the top of the stairs, though the door looked closed. When he reached the base of the stairs, his forehead started to hurt like it had at dinner. Every step he took, the throbbing increased, until his eyes teared up and he couldn’t see about three quarters up.   
  
The creature screamed when he blindly reached for the door at the top, and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the roof of his bed, his face and pillow wet with tears and his night clothes soaked with sweat, despite the chill he felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look me in the eye and tell me Akira isn’t a Slytherin. I dare you to find a better place for him.
> 
> I was looking at ghosts on Pottermore and found a ghost she never put in the books called The Toad that leaves ectoplasm all over its classroom. I wanted Malfoy to have slime on him for his sorting because… well it made me laugh and I’m the author of this fanfic, I can do what I want.
> 
> A little bit on information on some of the Persona 5 character’s wands. I spent a long time looking up wand wood and cores for everyone, and you can find out about the woods and cores on Pottermore if you want. I think I chose pretty well.
> 
> Akira: Cypress, Phoenix Feather, 12'¾”, Unyielding  
> Ryuji: Poplar, Dragon Heartstring, 12'½”, Solid  
> Ann: Elm, Dragon Heartstring, 11’0”, Fairly Bendy  
> Yusuke: Hornbeam, unicorn Hair, 10'¼”, Pliant  
> Makoto: Willow, Unicorn Hair, 10’0”, Hard  
> Haru: Alder, Unicorn Hair, 11'¾”, Surprisingly Swishy  
> Akechi: Yew, Dragon Heartstring, 9'½”, Rigid  
> Mishima: Chestnut, Unicorn Hair, 10’¾”, Brittle  
> Shiho: Pear, Phoenix Feather, 11’0”, Supple  
> Futaba: Silver Lime, Dittany Stalk, 9'¾”, Brittle
> 
> Houses:
> 
> Gryffindor: Ann, Mishima, Shiho, Futaba  
> Hufflepuff: Ryuji, Haru  
> Ravenclaw: Yusuke, Makoto, Akechi  
> Slytherin: Akira
> 
> Makoto, Haru and Akechi are in the same year as Fred and George (3rd year as of Akira's sorting)  
> Futaba is in the same year as Ginny and Luna, and will appear in the Chamber of Secrets
> 
> Futaba won’t appear until later, since she's younger than everyone else, but I probably wouldn’t remember in the future to mention it. And before you ask, her wand is special for a reason.
> 
> The reason I had Neville Hermione and Ron on the train together was to hopefully set them up to be friends early, since Ron and Hermione aren’t going to be part of the ‘main trio’ which won’t really be a true trio when they meet the other Phantoms. At the beginning it’s probably just going to be Ryuji and Ann that he’s friends with.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so if anyone is wondering why his last name isn't Potter, it's really just... James and Lily didn't quite get to the wedding before they were forced into hiding. They were going to get to the wedding after Akira was born, but it didn't happen. For this story, assume Lily is Japanese (I have this worked out, he father is Japanese and moved to the UK after marrying her British mother, who insisted on following the tradition of name your kid after a flower) while James is the same. As for his name not being Harry, I decided that Lily named him after her father who had recently died.
> 
> They were planning on having more than one kid though, so the next one would have been Harry, if it was a boy.
> 
> Feel free to call Akira Chairy Potter though, because I know I am...
> 
> I do have plans for pairings, for both the Persona 5 cast and the Harry Potter cast, but I won't reveal them just yet. I don't plan on adding any of them until at least 4th year, if I make it that far, and not all of them are set in stone yet either. Other tags and characters will be added as I go.


End file.
